


The Only Sound That's Left

by butyoumight



Category: My Chemical Romance, Taking Back Sunday
Genre: AU, Bandom Big Bang 2009, Gen, Guns, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-05
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-16 20:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nuke, a member of the Government-sponsored 'superhero' group V5 dies under mysterious circumstances. The remaining four members of the group are barred from investigating the death, prompting them to go back to their (now illegal) vigilante ways. Along the way, they pick up a new ally (Nuke's replacement in the team), an old ally (who never went in for the government sponsored work), and end up fighting against a conspiracy that goes further than expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hello Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the initial rough draft of this fic at 20,289 words in _nine days_ , so there was definitely some kind of magic mojo going on behind the scenes of this fic. I blame Alan Moore, Zack Snyder and Glycon. Dedicated to [borrowedphrases](http://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/pseuds/borrowedphrases): my fiancé, my primary beta, my hand-holder, my best friend and partner in crime. He watched me the entire time I tip-tapped away at this fic, and listened to me rant and rave, and reassured me that it was awesome, and teased me just enough to keep me sane(ish). Also, big thanks to [backinblack](http://www.livejournal.com/users/backinblack/) for a speedy-mc-quickster second beta when I realized I only had like ten days to finish cleaning up the fic. ILU.

  


_Death in Brooklyn is Open-and-Shut Case, Say Police.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...Detectives with the NYPD report no foul play is evident in the death of 28-year-old Adam Lazzara, found in his apartment by his landlord Tuesday morning. No further comment has been obtained at press time._

 _Lazzara is survived by his father and his younger brother. Services will be held in his home state of North Carolina..._

 

===

 

Those kind of perfect days where the temperature is just right, warm but not uncomfortably so, and the sun is bright but not too bright, with white and fluffy clouds in the sky, but they're just there for show; those kinds of days don't happen too often in the American South. Usually at least the humidity will fuck it up for you, making a nice 74 degree day feel like it's about twice as warm, and all you'll want to do is park yourself in front of an air-conditioning unit and stare into the cold air all day. Today was not that kind of day- today was one of those crazy cinematic-perfect days. Those were the days Nuke loved. He never got them in North Carolina, and he never got them in New York, either. He had always talked about moving to California, when they were all done. When they 'retired'.

Gerard rolled his shoulders, over-warm in his denim jacket but unwilling to take it off. He adjusted his sunglasses and peered at his brother, standing across from him with his hands in his back pockets, staring at the ground. The priest was still rambling on, ashes to dust and all that shit.

It was appropriate, in an strange sort of way. Your favorite kind of day, the kind of day that would always end well, with easy sleep and sweet dreams. For Gerard, they were the drizzly gray days, when he wore his sunglasses more out of preference than necessity. For Nuke, it was these nice sunny days. Ironic, maybe, for Nuke to be buried on the exact sort of day he'd lived for.

There weren't a lot of people at Nuke's funeral. His brother was there, silent tears rolling down his cheeks. Once upon a time, Nuke and his brother had been close, almost as close as Gerard was to his own. That had kind of fallen apart lately; these days work kept Nuke away from home for months at a time.

His father was there too, standing at the priest's elbow, biting down on his knuckle. Gerard figured he would be crying too, if Nuke's _friends_ weren't all there.

 _Some friends_ , Gerard thought, watching the casket drop. Nuke and Rym had never really gotten along, and while Nuke had enjoyed _working_ with Nysus, on the rare occasion when they were dressed down and acting like civilians (inasmuch as any of them could manage anymore) all they did was bicker. All any of them ever did was bicker these days, except for Gerard and Mikey. They'd gotten all the bickering out of their systems when they were growing up together, they didn't need to argue anymore.

The Handler was there too, slouched and frowning at the headstone as if it had been the thing that murdered Nuke. He'd brought along Nuke's replacement, not that anyone would look him in the eye. Not during the funeral. Gerard gave the kid yet another sidelong glance, a repeated once-over. Aeon, this new guy, was the same age as Gerard, but Gerard could only look at him and think 'kid'. He was new, he was young, he was _inexperienced_ , and even though Mikey was now the youngest member of V5, Aeon was the _newest_. That made him the kid as far as Gerard was concerned.

The priest was looking at him. As was Nuke's dad, and the Handler. Gerard took a step forward, gathering up a handful of the misplaced dirt and scattering it into the grave. His face remained stoic, his back straight.

The gravestone read Adam Burbank Lazzara: beloved son and brother. That was it. Gerard had known his civilian name, but it was strange to see it in stone like that. So final. So fake. Nothing in the engraving about his secret double-life. Nothing about the mask that obscured his features when they worked. Nothing about the precision of his fighting in direct contrast to how out-of-left-field he was in conversation.

Nothing about his powers. Just his name. And who everyone in North Carolina thought he was.

Gerard turned his back on the grave. Mikey was behind him, rubbing his hands together to brush off the dirt. The others followed suit, turning their backs on the grave. Even Aeon, following barely a half-step behind them as if he already belonged.

They didn't go to the wake.

 

"What do you mean, no investigation?"

A slow roll of thunder from a seemingly clear blue sky indicated Rym's displeasure at this turn in the conversation, and Gerard offered him a thankful glance for the support. Rym hadn't even liked Nuke that much.

"He died off the clock, Chiro." The Handler didn't seem at all pleased with what he was saying, but he was the enemy in this moment, the messenger waiting to be shot.

"Exactly," Mikey stated, though to the casual eye he was hardly paying attention, cleaning a gun that was already spotless.

"So there was no one there to know," Gerard continued for him. "How he died. Who _killed him_. Brian, come on. You know us, we're a team. Are you telling me we're going to let one of us die and not follow up on it?"

"It _is_ pretty fucked," Nysus, like Mikey, could hardly be interpreted as paying attention, stalking around the hotel room like he was searching for the Holy Grail. "No fucking mini-bar in here. When did we start staying in crap-sack motels with no goddamn mini-bars?"

The Handler spread his hands. Gerard glanced over his shoulder towards Aeon, leaning just inside the door and watching them with the wary eye of a newcomer. He'd been trained to join this kind of group, but he still seemed nervous. And for good reason; if Aeon had been paying attention at all while he was training then he knew precisely who he was in a room with, even without their distinctive uniforms. They were a pretty dangerous group of individuals, and they were currently all upset, in their own ways.

"I'm sorry, Chiro, but I can't authorize an investigation into Nuke's death. Now, you're all stuck here for the next two days while we figure some stuff out in Washington, you should use this time to get to know your new team-mate. I'll be in touch." The Handler tipped his hat in an exceedingly old-fashioned gesture, and Gerard sneered at him as he left.

"I hate that fuckin' fedora he always wears." Nysus gave up on his search for liquor and vaulted over the back of the couch, landing beside Rym. Another crack of thunder rolled, though it sounded further off, as though it were following the Handler in his black government car down the road. It probably was.

"Like we live in the goddamn fifties or something. What an asshole." Nysus pulled a cigarette out of a soft pack with his teeth, lighting it with a Zippo so battered it looked hardly capable of creating a flame.

"Is this a smoking room?" It was the first thing Aeon said to any of them since getting out of the Handler's car at the graveyard.

"Am I in it?" Nysus smirked and blew a puff of smoke in Aeon's general direction, then set about searching his pockets. "So what do you do?" He frowned around his cigarette. "I mean, you're Alpha," a slow inhale that made the ember on his cigarette flare. "Surely they wouldn't replace Nuke with anything," he breathed smoke out through his nose, then sat up straight, holding a hip flask triumphantly over his head. " _Less_."

Aeon managed to keep himself from starting at the sharp chuckle that sounded more like distant gunfire than laughter, glancing with a raised eyebrow at Mikey, who hefted the rifle he'd been cleaning. "Less is more, Nysus. Catch." He tossed the gun across the room with as much ease as someone throwing a stick for a dog.

Nysus turned around just in time to catch the rifle with his free hand. "Thanks, Strig. You're the best."

Aeon crossed the room into the little kitchenette. Nysus was right; the exclusion of a mini-bar left the room decidedly lacking. He helped himself to a flimsy plastic cup of water instead. "So I take it you're..."

Nysus sipped from his flask and almost purred at the burn of alcohol in his throat. " _Average_? I like to stick with Normal, personally. I'm the freak in a group of freaks," Nysus looked around at the others in the room. Aeon seemed amazed that they didn't look offended. Maybe they were used to this abrasive bastard. Nysus gestured towards himself with his flask. "Nah, I don't have any _powers_. I asked you what you do. Name like Aeon, hand-chosen as a replacement for Nuke, you must be something special."

Gerard smiled, setting his own side-arm down on the table in front of Mikey. Mikey picked it up and began to clean it with almost superhuman precision. Gerard liked Nysus. He liked all of the team, even if they did rub each other the wrong way sometimes. Most of the time. Nysus was always good to have around to ask all the questions no one else wanted to ask. Gerard figured he'd like Aeon too, before long. But right now, Aeon was just the replacement for someone Gerard had actually, despite everything, considered a friend, not just a team-mate, not just a coworker.

"What're you, shy?" Nysus leaned forward, staring Aeon down. "God damn it, this isn't a high school locker room. You probably know all of _their_ fuckin' powers; we're on the news enough. I'm not asking for sharing-caring show-and-tell, I just want to know what you do, so I can make sure you stay out of my way." He tossed his flask down with a disgusted growl. "Fucker is empty."

"I'm not... ashamed." Aeon said with a hiss of annoyance. Mikey was paying acute attention to the banter between the pair of them, Aeon and Nysus, even if he appeared otherwise distracted. Gerard was watching them carefully, hoping he wouldn't have to intervene. Even Rym was paying attention now, though it was hard to tell if it was because he was curious about Aeon's abilities, or amused with Nysus's bitchiness. He spent an inordinate amount of time amused with Nysus, considering how different they were on the surface.

"What is it then, paranoia? You're in V5 now, Kid, there's no room for paranoia. If anyone's gotta know what you do, it's these guys. Me, I don't _really_ give a shit, but they're not gonna ask, so it falls to me. Or we can go get into a fight and we can see first hand what the fuck it is you do."

Aeon laughed, and so did Gerard. But Gerard was laughing because he knew Nysus wasn't joking.

"Christ almighty, kid, just say it. We don't need your life story, just tell us what you told the Census." Nysus looked around. "Unless I'm being out of line."

It was Rym's turn to laugh. Even if Nysus _was_ being out of line, it would have been purposeful, and nothing any of them said would change that.

Aeon glanced at the others, feeling very ganged up on, then spread his hands. "You know, fine. I'm a time jumper. Only in micro-increments though."

Nysus squinted at him, a smirk on his lips, holding back a chuckle. "Micro-increments. I like that. You'll fit in, eventually." His pronouncement was firm, he sounded as if _he_ were the leader of the group. Nysus stood, striding for the door. "I need some fucking booze, who's coming with?"

 

 **"Gerard?" The query was punctuated by a tiny knock on the door, more like the scratching of a timid mouse than anything else. The sound was almost lost in the rhythmic banging coming from the other bedroom down the hall. Gerard sat up; no sounds were lost on him, not ever.**

 **"Come in, Mikey."**

 **Mikey crept into Gerard's room, climbed into his bed and settled in.**

 **"Everything's gonna be alright, Mikes."**

 **Mikey's eyes were dark when he looked at Gerard. Dark, but not black. He wasn't scared, just lonely. He seemed to get lonely a lot, and he always sought out his brother in those moments. Gerard had a theory that, maybe in some weird cosmic screw up, they were supposed to be twins. It hadn't worked out that way, and at fourteen Mikey had hit his growth spurt. He was a few inches taller than Gerard now, but they still thought like twins. And they still liked to be together when at all possible.**

 **"You can sleep in here tonight, if you don't want to be alone."**

 **Mikey was already asleep. Gerard turned off his bedside lamp.**

 

There was no proper clock in this room, and no light except for the faint yellow sneaking in from the parking lot through ratty curtains. It might as well have been pitch-black, underground at midnight.

Gerard didn't need to click. Mikey's watch was ticking, hardly perceptible to the average ear, but Gerard's ear was hardly average. The regular ticking of the second hand was enough to give Gerard a decent view of the positions of the other hands. Almost three a.m. He decided to click anyway. The sound he made, starting low in his throat, was soft, the uninitiated would hear barely more than a humming sigh.

Mikey was awake, sitting up cross-legged and shirtless. His hair was a complete mess, implying that he hadn't been awake until he sensed Gerard coming. They'd always figured their little shared clairvoyance came more from being brothers than from being Alpha.

Gerard couldn't see Mikey's eyes, not really, but he knew how they must look, soft brown iris completely hidden. Pure black eyes, eerie in Mikey's face, like he was looking right through you, seeing into your lungs, your head, your heart.

"You're up late."

Gerard shrugged, sitting down beside Mikey and tucking his legs beneath himself, clicking again. The sketchy picture of Mikey in the dark came back to him. "Early, actually. I couldn't sleep."

"What a surprise. Dreams?"

Gerard nodded, shrugged, clicked. Mikey's face had shifted, the outline sullen, worried. Gerard rolled his eyes and scowled. "Spare me the brother shit, Mikes. He was my best friend, aside from you. Is it totally out of character for me to be upset?"

Mikey's smile came back, more of a smirk, more enigmatic than the Mona Lisa. "No. Not out of character at all, G."

"And what about you? What are you doing up?"

Mikey was silent for a long moment. The clicks showed Gerard that Mikey's eyes were closed, his face relaxed, thoughtful.

"I think we should investigate."

Gerard laughed quietly. He didn't need to click to know that Mikey was smiling, smirking again. His little chuckle showed him that. "I agree, obviously. But what about the others?"

"Nysus will love it." Mikey nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. "Anything to get into a real skirmish again. Rym loves the investigation, and if we remind him how fishy it is that Brian's blocking it, he'll be in. You know how he is."

"What about Aeon?"

"I don't know. We might have to do without. Just the four of us. Eh." Mikey's eyes opened again, he stared through the darkness at his brother. "I think we should contact Enigmata."

Gerard paused. "...What?"


	2. On Ice

_Super-Humans Coming Out of the Woodwork.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...Alpha-type humans. We all know them, some better than others._

 _It has yet to be determined what causes these individuals to develop their 'powers', whether it is an unknown mutation in the human genome, or perhaps something more mystical. Some families have tracked their 'powers' back generations, while other known Alpha-types are unique in their heritage._

 _Some are more powerful than others, and some powers are more frightening to the average mind..._

 

===

 

Nysus and Aeon settled their differences at a bar. Both were still recovering; Nysus from a pretty nasty-looking cut on his arm which he insisted didn't hurt, Aeon from a fairly impressive black eye. Now they were shoving each other, exchanging mock-punches and no-holds-barred insults. They reminded Gerard of kittens. Fighting, but obviously for fun.

The Handler was waiting for them outside the airport, leaning against an SUV that screamed government vehicle, even without any distinctive license plate. He was smoking, despite the dirty stares this was earning him from the security guards at the door. Gerard glanced at one of the guards, lighting a cigarette for himself. Nysus was the last to climb into the vehicle, bowing at the guards and saluting them with his own cigarette, which might as well have been lit before they'd left the airport or how much he smelled like smoke.

Gerard lowered the window as soon as the car pulled away from the curb, despite half-hearted protests from the Handler. "What's the point in tinted windows if you're just going to roll them down?"

"My priorities lie with not suffocating in a car full of smoke, not with _keeping my anonymity_ or whatever." Gerard blew smoke out the window to punctuate his point.

The Handler sighed, shaking his head. "Fine. Whatever," he rubbed at his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. "I have news."

"Oooh, news!" Nysus leaned forward over the back of the seat. Gerard craned his neck, looking up at Nysus with a grin. "Do tell, B, do tell." He sat back again, receiving a shove from Aeon in the process. "We're all ears."

"You're on ice."

There was a moment's silence. Not even Nysus had a snappy remark.

Eventually Mikey broke the silence.

"Eh," he adjusted his glasses slowly, thoughtfully, then turned his head slowly to glare at the Handler. "What the fuck?"

The Handler frowned, turning around in the passenger seat to look at them all. Four men that had never failed, never let him down. He'd been their government contact since they were put together, about three months after the Armstrong Bill had passed. Plus Aeon, who the rest of them didn't know had been _his_ , Brian's choice to replace Nuke.

"The Secretary thinks you all need a break. After losing Nuke you could use a vacation, right?" He looked at Rym, met his eyes. "Nothing shady," his gaze moved to Mikey. "No ulterior motives," on to Nysus. "Just a chance to relax." And then Aeon. "For all of us to reassess," and Gerard. "Relax. Decompress."

Gerard scowled, pushing his sunglasses down over his eyes. "How long?"

"A month, at least. Maybe more." The Handler turned around again, looking out the windshield. He could feel the discomfort filling the car and he hated it, hated knowing he was the cause. It was a thankless job. "We're dropping you off at your individual homes. Take the time to be yourselves. _Just_ yourselves." He glanced up at the sun-shade, looked into the mirror to see them all staring back at him. They seemed like lost children for a moment, even Aeon. It had been years since they had any time off; The Handler figured they didn't know what to do without something to keep them occupied.

"Spend some time together if you want." The car was slowing down, they were approaching an apartment building that was only half-familiar to Gerard. He had an apartment there, so did Mikey and Rym. Government issued, like his gun, and his coat, and his mask. "But remember you're just five normal guys for now. Gerard, Mikey, James, Bob, and Ray. No more, no less."

There was a momentary flutter of activity, this being the first time the old hands had heard Aeon's real name. Aeon avoided their curious glances.

The car stopped. "First stop. G, Mikey, Bob. Relax, get some sleep. Take care of yourselves."

They exchanged glances. Mikey heaved a heavy sigh just as a tiny streak of lightning was lost in the clear sky. The three named climbed out of the car and The Handler rolled down his window to look at them, standing there in blue jeans and plain clothes, weapons hidden, faces bare, and still looking for all the world like they didn't belong on the street in broad daylight. "Try not to draw any attention to yourselves."

The car pulled away while the window rolled up. Mikey turned to look at Gerard, his eyes surprisingly clear and plain. "You need more convincing?"

Gerard looked around, feeling incredibly exposed. He glanced at Rym- At _Bob_ \- and smiled, feeling around in his pocket for the keys he always carried just in case. "Let's go inside."

 

 **The sound was as familiar to Detective Bryar as his own name. The rhythmic click of handcuffs closing, tightening. He just never expected he'd have to use them on his own partner.**

 **He shoved Stumph into the back seat of someone else's cruiser. He couldn't be- wouldn't be- the one to drive his own partner into the station to be booked.**

 **"You're a fool, Bryar." Stumph snarled at him. "Do you really think you can be Mister Good Cop forever?"**

 **Bob shook his head, closing the door on his partner. Ex-partner. Corrupt partner who'd been taking bribes. Taking bribes from pimps. He knocked on the passenger side window and the car pulled away, lights flashing but siren off.**

 **The pimp was dead now, a tattered black ribbon wrapped tourniquet-tight around his heavily tattooed arm. A vigilante had done this. A vigilante had enabled them to catch the corruption at its root.**

 **"Yeah." Bob said, speaking only to the dead pimp and himself. "Yeah, I do."**

 

Less than an hour had passed before Gerard's phone was ringing. He wasn't sure where Nysus had gotten his number, but he didn't care.

"We're outside, fucker. Buzz us up, please."

"We?"

"Ae- Ray's got a place in the same complex as me. I'm beginning to think conspiracy."

"You think everything's a conspiracy." Gerard said with a leer he hoped traveled down the wire. "Come on up."

"Thank you kindly."

Gerard returned to the front room through the kitchen, freshened cup of coffee in hand, and perched on the arm of a couch that he would never have picked out for himself. Some stripe pattern in white and blue.

Mikey was talking, gesturing in his subdued way. "I just don't like it. Losing Nuke is hard, fucking hard. But. Eh, It's worse. Taking us out of the picture like this. It's weird."

Bob nodded in silent agreement. The door slammed open and Nysus- _James_ \- strode through the apartment like he owned it, though he'd never been there before. "Shit, it's set up just like mine. Like we live in a goddamn sitcom."

"Nice of you to stop by," Gerard leaned back a bit, turning to watch James walk past. Ray came behind him, looking around, momentarily uncomfortable. Gerard grinned at him. "We're just normal guys, Ray, right? Take a seat, we're talking about what we're going to do."

Ray smiled, electing to sit on the floor, leaving the armchair for James and creating what would be a loose circle once James returned. "We gonna start a band?"

"Fully stocked liquor cabinet! And you don't even drink," James' voice echoed from the kitchen, punctuated by a short laugh and a clicking lighter. "I think I'll help myself."

"You're too kind." Gerard rolled his eyes. "Hurry up."

James returned holding a bottle of whiskey aloft, flopping down into the chair and taking a long drink. "Shoot. Unless you're gonna tell me we're gonna be good little boys, twiddling our thumbs and waiting by the phone. Because I am so out if that's the case."

"Definitely not." Gerard shook his head sharply; he gestured quite a bit more expressively than his brother ever did. "There's something going on here, that much I think we can all agree on."

Ray's discomfort had come back; he crossed his arms.

"We're going to find out what happened. It starts with Nuke."

Mikey nodded, looking around the room. "We find out what happened to Nuke, we find out what's going on." He met Bob's eyes, and Bob nodded as well.

Ray didn't catch the unspoken agreement. "And how do you guys propose we go about doing a strictly forbidden investigation?"

Gerard glanced at his brother, then back at Ray. "We'll need help. Someone who knows how to do things the subtle way. Who knows his way around the sewers, so to speak."

Ray looked at Gerard, then at Mikey. Mikey's smile made the hair on the back of Ray's neck stand up. "You're talking like you've got someone in mind."

Mikey laughed, standing up in an eerily fluid movement, leaving the room and heading towards the bathroom. "Enigmata."

"Yes!" James threw both hands into the air, unaware of the whiskey that splashed out the top of the bottle. "Fucking yes."

Ray stared after Mikey, then looked back at Gerard. "He knows Enigmata?"

Gerard shrugged like he didn't have a care in the world, selecting a cigarette from his pack carefully. "So do I."

"And he hasn't been turned in- _why_?" Ray laughed as if disbelieving, though it was obvious that they were speaking the truth. "I mean, you could retire on the reward money."

Bob looked up. He hadn't met Enigmata, neither had James, but they all knew about him. Everyone in the city knew about him. Bob looked Ray in the eye, and a rumble of thunder crackled through the room, emphasizing his words. "Because what he does is right."

Ray didn't argue this time.

 

"You really think this is a good idea?"

The building housing Ray and James' apartments wasn't terribly far away, and they'd elected to walk back instead of hailing a cab. It wasn't as if they couldn't defend themselves.

James used the tail-end of a cigarette to light another, flicking the butt into the street in a perfect arc. "I think it's the best idea I've heard in years." James glanced at Ray. "You weren't a vigilante before Armstrong, were you? You went straight into the business."

Ray kept his eyes on the pavement, shrugging one shoulder. "Is it that obvious?"

"Tell me something, _Ray_ , are you Anomalous?"

He didn't need to answer aloud, the look on his face told James everything he needed to know. James touched his shoulder to draw Ray's eyes up. "I'll tell you a secret, kid. Something Gerard doesn't even know."

Ray raised an eyebrow.

"So am I."

"You said you.. _Oh_."

James smiled, gestured vaguely with his cigarette. "You never met Nuke. He was a good guy. A great guy. I've never seen him lose a one-on-one fight. Ever. Between that and the big boys telling us we can't look into him dying?" He shrugged. "It's fishy."

"But Enigmata..."

"Is our best chance finding out the truth. Nuke was in New York when he died, chances are Enigmata already knows more than we do."

Ray restrained a look of impressed contemplation. James touched his shoulder again, stopping in the street and looking into his eyes. "We're taking a big chance trusting you. You know that, right? Gerard and Mikey, they _know_ him. They know him for _serious_. If that ever, _ever_ got out they'd be fucked. They'd go to _prison_."

Ray nodded slowly.

"So if you're in, good. But if you're out, you'll keep your mouth shut, right?"

Ray snatched James' cigarette out of his hand with what appeared to be superhuman speed. James could tell it wasn't, though; he'd seen people moving quickly, and what Ray did was different. He took a slow drag off the cigarette then offered it back, holding it upright in his fingertips. The bruise around his eye underlined the serious nature of his gaze; hesitant determination.

"I'm in."

 

 **He was Ray Toro. Just Ray Toro; he didn't want to be anything more, or less, or different. Everyone, even his family, started looking at him differently when he'd started jumping.**

 **The Toro family were immigrants only two generations back. And in Puerto Rico, even if any of them had been Alpha, no one would have bothered to find out. It was curious, really, the vast interest in powers a purely English-speaking phenomenon.**

 **As for Ray's family- his immediate family, anyway- none of them were. No one had powers, except for little Ray, the youngest in the family.**

 **"Let your brother play the guitar, Ray." His mother still had the accent she'd picked up from her mother. It drove him crazy. She'd lived her whole life in New Jersey, there was no reason she shouldn't have adapted to the American accent.**

 **"You, you're meant for something better."**

 **Ray just wanted to blend in.**

 

Gerard woke up with a start to a pounding on his door. He stared around, confused for a second, having forgotten where he was. He'd passed out on the couch. It was soft, despite being amazingly ugly, and he'd crashed almost as soon as all the others had left. The apartment came back into focus, the dim lamp in the corner of the room not quite reaching the other corners, where the constant knocks on the door outlined unknown furniture lurking in the shadows.

"Fucking, just a second!" He stood up and stretched backwards, his spine cracking in several distinct and satisfying snaps. He released a sigh and finally approached the apartment door, hauling it open. Mikey stood there, arms full of clothes that were familiar to Gerard, though he couldn't put his finger on why.

"There's something truly fucked going on, G. Have you looked in your closet?"

Gerard raised an eyebrow. He couldn't actively read Mikey's mind (despite popular opinion), but he could hear the curious tension in Mikey's voice, and he turned without another word, walking into the bedroom.

It was decorated in a similar style as the living room, but in lines of red and gray. The government decorators must have had a thing for stripes. Gerard noted this with an eye roll, moving on to the closet and sliding the door open. The clothes held within were typical, and most at least seemed to actually belong to him. Black jeans and black shirts and not much else, which was precisely the wardrobe he would have chosen for himself. One hanger caught his attention, mostly because of the way it stuck out, hanging crookedly, like it was a little heavier on the side further into the closet. He pulled the hanger out, turning to look at Mikey standing in the bedroom doorway. They exchanged matched looks, right down to the raised eyebrow. Mikey held up part of the presumed outfit he'd been holding when he came to Gerard's door. Gerard pulled his own off the hanger and held it up the same way as his brother.

Matched leather dusters at three-quarter length, Mikey's dark brown, Gerard's black, with distinctive decorations: a pair of crossed wings on the back of each coat (Gerard had painted them, he remembered the night and all its details. The paint. And the coffee). Gerard's with distinct bones and scalloped edges, Mikey's with carefully detailed feathers. Chiro and Strig. The Bat and the Owl.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." The utter disbelief in Gerard's voice made Mikey grin, that same enigmatic smirk.

Mikey twirled his coat, tossed it around his shoulders and spread his arms. "Still fits."


	3. The Fearsome Mystery

_Masked Adventurer Takes a Name For Himself.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...He calls himself Enigmata, a less-known plural for Enigma, a riddle or mystery. The East Coast's most famous of vigilantes is otherwise unknown by any more than his black blindfold and his fearsome fighting._

 _Villains and two-cent thugs alike have succumbed to his unsanctioned quest to eradicate crime. They speak of him in a tone of voice that indicates as much reverence as rage..._

 

===

"This isn't completely shady or anything."

James' face glowed briefly in the flare of his lighter, his laugh underlined by the Zippo clicking closed. "You're just jealous that you're in that tired old government get-up."

Ray crossed his arms over his chest. "Jealous of you? And your, ah, toga?"

James spread his arms and spun, grinning around his cigarette. Folds of dark gray, made from a fabric impossible to identify, shifted easily when he moved except where they were belted tight, down his arms and around his waist. "They're _robes_ , thank you very much."

Ray raised an eyebrow, shrugging one army-green clad shoulder. The government suit was no more than a glorified Army uniform, though more form-fitting. Reducing the area an opponent could grab. "What kind of superhero wears a robe?"

James rolled his eyes, gesturing vaguely behind him. "Rym, will you _explain_ , please?"

Ray turned his attention to Bob, who was also curiously dressed for a dark alley in the middle of New York City, what with a belted, black, honest-to-god tunic over cut-off jean shorts. He wasn't looking at any of the others, too focused on tightening the laces of leather bracers that covered his forearms from wrist to elbow. Ray felt like he was backstage during some strange period play, standing between a Viking soldier and a Greek reveler. "Because he's a Greek-worshipping son of a bitch."

James laughed, nodding and pulling his flask from a fold of his robes. He took a drink from it. "Bacchus give me strength!" He lifted the flask towards the sky before tucking it away again, lifting a shoulder at Ray.

Ray shook his head, giving James a look that was equal parts disbelief and curiosity. "You keep wine in that thing?"

"Oh, he knows his shit." James laughed. "Good call. But nah, man. Brandy on fight-nights. It gives me my _powers_."

"All right, guys, enough fun."

"The bat speaks!" James bowed low, one hand over his heart, his other arm swept out to his side. Gerard rolled his eyes, pushing his hood back. The coats had been his idea; the hoodies were Mikey's doing. Simple zip-front hoodies in black and brown, respectively. Except for the ears, pointed on Gerard's and feather-lined on Mikey's.

Gerard made a point of speaking past James, who straightened with a little chuckle. "Mikes, are you sure he's coming?"

" _Coming_? I'm here."

Everything went very still for a moment, and then Ray made the first move. In one second he was arms-crossed defiant; in the next noticeable second he stood gun drawn, aimed in the direction he was sure the voice had come from.

"Don't." Mikey said it to break the momentary spell caused in equal parts by Enigmata's appearance and Ray's reaction. "Don't fucking shoot at him, Ray, I'm serious."

Ray's response was tight. "I have every right in the world to defend myself against a known violent sociopath."

Mikey put a hand on Ray's shoulder, glancing across the alley. Behind Ray, Enigmata came down along the side of the building in the posture of a jump, though he was falling with much more slowly than any human being had a right to fall. He landed lightly, silently on his feet. He straightened, flicking his worn coat to straighten the lines and settle it more comfortably on his small frame. He turned his head as though looking around at the gathering in the alley, despite the blindfold obscuring his eyes, tails trailing over his shoulder, making the turn of his head seem like a pointless pursuit.

A flicker of a disturbed grin crossed his lips, and he strode forward three steps that brought him within arm's reach of Ray. He drew a short knife from an inner pocket of his coat, putting the point between Ray's shoulder blades. Mikey took a step back. "Fr-"

The knife turned towards Mikey's face with an absolute lack of hesitation, Enigmata's head tilting as though he were listening to something far off. "Don't you dare, Michael."

Mikey held up his hands, demonstrating his harmlessness. "Sorry. _Enigmata_."

"Better. Who is your new friend?" The knife returned to Ray's back, pressing just hard enough for him to feel it. Ray turned his head in an attempt to see his attacker, and couldn't check a gasp as Enigmata pushed the knife threateningly.

"No weapons, Enigmata." Mikey's voice was firm, as if he had some kind of authority over him. The knife didn't waver from its position, but Enigmata turned his head sharply in Mikey's direction, sending the long tails of his blindfold fluttering over his shoulder.

"His gun."

"Ray..."

"Fuck you, _Mikey_ , and who put you in charge anyway?" Ray snarled, his hands clutching tight to his gun as if it were a lifeline.

"I did." Gerard said softly, stepping past a statuesque James and Bob, trying to avoid drawing any more negative reactions from Enigmata. Gerard moved closer to the imminent skirmish. "Listen to him, Ray, or your part in this is over, now."

"He doesn't like guns, Ray, and I don't blame him. Put it the fuck away." Mikey's voice was earnest, intent on diffusing the situation before it got out of hand. Which, with Enigmata, was a very real possibility.

"Fine." Ray holstered his pistol, but not without a threatening growl. He spread his arms when he was done, and Enigmata stepped back, his knife disappearing into his trench coat. Ray turned around to get a look at the vigilante.

"Holy _shit_."

Enigmata's head turned back towards Ray with a raptor-like snap. "Problem?"

Mikey shot Ray a warning look, shaking his head. Ray didn't seem to notice, and if he did he didn't care. "You're _short_."

Enigmata snarled, baring his teeth. He hunched his shoulders and prepared to lunge at Ray. Mikey stepped between them, holding his hands up, and his feet promptly lost contact with the ground. Enigmata growled.

"Put me down. Enigmata, _put me down_." Mikey kicked his feet a bit, clenching his fists and glaring death at the blindfolded man beneath him, his voice rising to an annoyed fever pitch. " _Put me down, Fr_ -"

Gerard was behind Enigmata, grabbing his arm and pulling, turning him away from Ray. Mikey tumbled to the ground, landing hard on one knee, grimacing at the shock of pain. It was impossible to tell whether Gerard's tug had caused the rough fall, or if Enigmata had dropped him that way on purpose.

"Calm the fuck down. You're here to help us." Gerard snapped.

There was a long tense moment before Enigmata shrugged Gerard's hand off his shoulder, making a slight gesture, turning his left wrist and curling his fingers. Mikey rose to his feet, his arms held stiffly out to his sides in a feeble and unnecessary attempt to keep his balance. Gerard moved to his brother, touching his shoulder. They exchanged an entire conversation in tiny facial expressions, lifted eyebrows and tiny head shakes.

"Are we all a little calmer now?" Gerard asked the group at large, after the culmination of his silent conversation with Mikey.

James laughed in his usual hearty way, and the tension broke as easily as the seal on his flask. Ray raised his hand as if he was in school, and Gerard gave him an encouraging grin as well as nod.

Ray turned to address Enigmata- the only one still quietly fuming, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. "You don't like guns?"

"That's true."

"Bullshit." Ray's dismissal was underlined with a laugh. "How many of your victims have been shot?"

"They're not the victims." Enigmata's voice was flat, a sharp contrast to his earlier passion. "They're the perpetrators."

"Semantics."

"Their bullets. Their guns."

Ray rolled his eyes. "Oh, I'm _so_ sure."

"I'm willing to prove it." Enigmata lifted a hand, and Ray's gun shifted in its holster, ready to draw itself.

"Stop it, guys." Mikey spoke quietly, seriously.

Ray glanced at him, tense again despite the momentary reprieve mere seconds before. "Are you seriously telling me _The Fearsome Mystery_ does not use a gun? Has not ever?"

Enigmata tilted his head back, turning his face towards the sky, as though listening to words spoken by an ancient echoing deity, drifting off into his own world. He was purposefully ignoring Ray's annoyance. "They still call me that?"

James leaned close to Bob, speaking in a mock-whisper. "I like him. So much."

"He's a lunatic." Bob's voice was soft, more affection than derision. Enigmata smiled, though it was impossible to tell if he was smiling at their conversation or at something inside his head.

James grinned. "I know."

 

 **"You've got a good heart, Mrs. Way, but I think maybe there are other causes that could benefit more."**

 **Donna could hear the pounding inside the room, not to mention see the two heavy locks on the door. She frowned. It wasn't her first time stopping by the psychiatric center. The thought of the young boy she'd seen a week ago, climbing a tree to sulk alone, now locked up alone in that room like he was some dangerous criminal made her heart ache. This boy, this Frank, he was only two years younger than her Mikey. "I don't know what causes you think are more important than this."**

 **"He's very troubled," the doctor sighed. "He's been known to be violent. Not purposefully but he has a lot of power that he doesn't know how to control or express. He doesn't sleep much."**

 **"Tell me something, doctor." Donna said thoughtfully, tapping her lips with one finger as if genuinely interested in the doctor's response. "What are the chances of a boy with his history getting adopted?"**

 **The doctor restrained himself from rolling his eyes. It was a battle already lost, and it had been lost since Donna walked in the door. "Slim."**

 **"And a foster home. Does he qualify for foster care?"**

 **"Technically, yes, but considering his history it would involve a pretty in depth interviewing process to find the right home. And, statistically speaking, he wouldn't last long. He'd end up back here, or maybe on the street."**

 **"So tell me, doctor. Statistically. What are this boy's chances of having a normal life? What are his chances of having any kind of life at all?"**

 **The doctor sighed, shaking his head but remaining silent. Donna smiled, a very enigmatic little grin that her youngest had inherited. "So, do you still need to interview me?"**

 

Ray refused to sit. The rest of the group seemed to be comfortable; Mikey and Gerard perched on the arms of the couch like a not-quite-matching pair of gargoyles, James sprawled out in his armchair with a bottle of vodka in one hand, Bob sitting back-straight on the couch between the brothers, his legs crossed under him. Enigmata was perched on a side-table, like a cat prepared to pounce. The posture looked relaxed on him, like he was most comfortable when ready to strike.

Ray leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes mostly focused on the vigilante, glancing at the others occasionally.

Enigmata's voice was low, like he expected to be overheard. "He died in his apartment. I saw the ambulance leave early that morning. No siren, no lights. Cops didn't stay long either. No spooks showed up. No one from the government. Thought that seemed strange. Went up after dark. Nearly all the windows were shattered. A lot of blood, quite the big mess. He put up a fight." The tiny twitch of his head seemed to go unnoticed to the others, but Ray made a mental note of it. "Bullet holes in the walls. In the floor. The ceiling. He wasn't just gunned down. Seems like he was fucking... torn apart."

Gerard stared at his hands, folded carefully on his knees. He shook his head. "No fucking way. I just can't imagine someone shooting Nuke and getting away with it."

Enigmata turned his head. "I'll take you in, Chiro, if you want to see. They've cleaned it up, but no repairs have been started. Not to my knowledge, anyway."

Mikey pulled his legs to his chest, balancing on the arm of the couch, arms crossed over his knees. He put his chin on his arms and frowned to himself; one could almost see the gears turning in his mind.

"This whole thing is pretty fucked up." James interjected, gesturing with his bottle.

"We'll start with his apartment," Mikey spoke finally, slowly, glancing at Gerard for confirmation. Gerard nodded. "Not everyone. Enigmata and G, you guys go for it. Stay in touch. We'll move on with what you find." He looked up. "But I think we can all agree that there's more to this than a robbery." He turned his head just enough to look Ray in the eye. "I'm hesitant to use the word conspiracy..." He rested his chin on his arms again.

"But we'll see." Gerard completed the sentence for him.

 

Enigmata left through a window. James, Ray and Bob all left through the door.

Mikey stayed behind, sitting with his brother. They sipped at coffee and sat in a comfortable- if solemn- silence for a long time. Eventually Gerard stood up to take off his coat, and then his hoodie. He draped both over the back of the couch and just looked at the costume for a while, spread out and empty like that. Mikey turned his head to watch his brother, sipped at his coffee.

"Stupid costumes. Such a bad idea."

Mikey made a dismissive noise, and Gerard shot him a _look_. "What are we thinking?"

Mikey shrugged. "That, if they're gonna take us out, we should go out fighting?"

Gerard blinked slowly, then turned to look at his brother. Mikey saw every complex emotion he felt reflected in his brother's eyes.

Gerard sighed. "You really think this is about taking us out of the equation totally?"

Mikey shifted, stretching out on the couch and looking at the ceiling, resting his coffee mug on his chest. "Eh," He shrugged, gestured in a vague circular motion. "Yeah. I really kind of do. Enigmata does too."

Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Enigmata thinks we made the wrong choice from the start."

"Maybe we did." Mikey shrugged again, draining his coffee mug. "He's not dead. Nuke is."

"Oh, come on, Mikey." Gerard didn't mean to snap, but the bite in his words was there nonetheless.

Mikey lifted his head, looking at his brother, and then stood up, setting his mug down on the coffee table and heading towards the door. "I know you still think he's cracked, and you know, maybe he is. I'm pretty sure Frank is gone for good. But he knows what he's doing. And even if it's not a conspiracy, don't you want to track down whoever did it? It certainly wasn't just an accident. Eh," he paused, tilted his head. "Could you imagine an ordinary robber, even a group of them, killing Nuke?"

Gerard frowned, flopping over on the couch and draping an arm over his eyes. He sighed, and Mikey smiled, knowing Gerard would see it anyway. "I didn't think so."

 

 **Gerard and Mikey sat side by side on the couch. Their new brother (that was how they both referred to him, even when he corrected them with a snarl) was leaning over the back of the couch, squinting at the photo album in their lap.**

 **Gerard was turning the pages, while Mikey scanned all the pictures. Frank shifted from foot to foot, anxious and nervous as ever. The brothers were starting to get used to how twitchy he was, like an excitable little bird. Gerard had told Mikey that his heart beat fast like a bird's, too. Mikey had a fondness for birds.**

 **He had a fondness for Frank. He liked being the big brother.**

 **"Stop!"**

 **Mikey put his finger on a picture, and Frank leaned forward to get a better look. "That's us with Grandma Helena, when I was still just a baby. We call her Gran, though."**

 **Frank huffed, shrugged one shoulder, but he kept leaning closer, and Gerard knew he was interested. Even his little bird heart was beating a bit more slowly, not like he was ready to run or fly away.**

 **"Gran did stuff like you do, Frank." Mikey said, pushing thick glasses up his nose and turning his head to look at Frank's face, the skin around his eyes scrunching up with a smile. He gestured grandly. "Moved stuff with her mind, you know?"**

 **Frank's fingers touched the photograph carefully, like he was afraid it would disappear, or he'd hurt it.**


	4. All The Agents

_The Fearsome Mystery Responds to the Armstrong Bill  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...Enigmata has responded to the Armstrong Bill and, unsurprisingly, his answer is vehemently negative._

 _Over the course of the two days since the Armstrong Bill passed, as vigilantes are beginning to report and the new military enters development, no less than six bodies were delivered to the front stoop of the New York police department. Further investigation has revealed that among these numbers are a pimp and two petty thieves. At least three dead, the rest savagely subdued, all of them marked with the loose strip of black fabric that indicates Enigmata's involvement in their capture. The implication is obvious. Enigmata will not be silenced, nor will he be regulated._

 _The NYPD is offering a hefty reward for information leading to the capture of Enigmata..._

===

"It's nice seeing you in full costume again, Chiro. It's been a long time."

Gerard turned away from the brick wall he'd been using to shield himself from the wind while lighting his cigarette. Enigmata scaled down the wall as easily as anything, falling like a cat with a parachute. Only there was no visible means of lift, simply the subtle flapping of his trench-coat. Gerard was aware that Enigmata was capable of keeping his coat still from flapping, tight against his body. He took the carefree motion of the coat to mean they were safe in this alley. That they were alone.

"I was... Oh, you mean the mask. Well, yeah." Gerard touched the black, feature-obscuring mask with two fingertips, then drew a drag off his cigarette. Enigmata strode closer with hands in his pockets; the wind picked up the tails of his blindfold, tossed them over his shoulders.

"Yes. The mask." Enigmata smiled, and Gerard sighed out a puff of smoke.

"So, we're here."

"I told you I'd bring you to see." Enigmata shifted one shoulder and a door behind Gerard opened slowly, silently. Gerard had a suspicion that it should be squeaking, or making some kind of creaking noise, but there was nothing. It made the silent motion even more eerie. "Old fire exit. Broken stairs, you've gotta climb part of the way. It's an old building; this exit was made obsolete by the outer fire escapes. Leads right to his door."

Gerard put his cigarette out against the brick wall, pocketing the barely-smoldering end. He let Enigmata lead the way up the rickety stairs. Gerard was almost relieved to reach the point where the stairs were shattered, some missing entirely. Climbing the wall felt safer, even despite the splinters. It didn't squeak.

Enigmata swung through an opening that had once been a door, its frame painted green. Gerard climbed carefully after him, hopping to his feet. Enigmata's hair shone in the green light of a flickering Exit sign, the only real light in the hallway. Gerard smiled, and drew his gun.

"No need." Enigmata's voice was nearly silent, just loud enough for Gerard to hear, a talent honed in the years they'd spent working side-by-side. Gerard was pleased that he remembered such a precise tone. "No one lives on this floor. No cops in a week. We're safe." Enigmata gathered the tails of his blindfold, tucked them back over his shoulder. "I promise."

Gerard hesitated, but only momentarily, holstering his gun again. Enigmata strode across the hallway, ducking into a dark chasm where there had once been a heavy door. Gerard followed, touching the splintered wood where both locks had been torn from the jamb. "Seems like a little much for a robbery."

Gerard stood in the doorway, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. He clicked, listened to the echoes and watched Enigmata move across the expansive living-room. Gerard could see the sharp edges of splinters scattered across the a wall and a door, recognized them as bullet holes. His jaw tightened, and he followed Enigmata through another broken door-frame.

The bedroom had barely been touched since the attack, though presumably someone had come in to clean up the blood. Otherwise, it was a mess, scattered with broken glass from mirrors and picture-frames, not to mention the shattered windows.

Enigmata had been telling the truth. The wounded walls were worse in here, a hole every couple feet, every couple inches in some places. The bed was devoid of any sheets, and Gerard reckoned if it were brighter, there'd be a stain there in the mattress, brown by now. He figured Enigmata _could_ see it. That would explain why he stopped and gestured at the bed.

"In bed?" Gerard asked, though he wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if Enigmata had been there; nor was he precognitive, for that matter.

"Alone." Enigmata tilted his head thoughtfully, Gerard imagined his closed eyes beneath the blindfold. It still caught him off guard, sometimes. Knowing Enigmata was looking at him when all Gerard could see was his back.

"Asleep?"

"Probably."

Gerard sighed, clicking again, listening to the room. So many little bullet holes. Too many. Covering something up, maybe?

Or making sure that Nuke was dead.

"Who kills a man in his sleep?" he asked, mostly rhetorically.

Enigmata answered anyway. "Someone who wants that man dead."

Gerard sighed again, pushing back his hood and running a hand through his hair. "But who would want _Adam Lazzara_ dead?"

Enigmata didn't answer this time. He left the room silently, headed back towards the hallway. Gerard followed him.

 

Computers were Bob's friend. He was good with them, good at wrangling information out of unfeeling machines. Gerard had returned from his visit with Enigmata to Nuke's apartment with Nuke's computer. Which was suspicious in and of itself. If there was any investigation going on at all, the computer should have been taken in. It was beginning to seem more and more likely that Mikey was right on the money, labeling this some kind of conspiracy.

Bob just chose not to blame it on the government that had employed them all so gainfully for the past few years. He'd dealt with enough corruption in his time. He wanted to finger the blame on an old nemesis- though they'd always tried to avoid those kinds of labels in the past. Mikey stood beside his own idea, and Gerard was obviously being swayed towards Mikey's point of view. Bob made a mental note to have a look at Nuke's apartment on his own. Maybe there was something they were all missing.

James was just enjoying the chase. Like old times, he kept saying. Just like old times.

Nuke had never been the type to password protect his computer, and it was a simple change of settings that gave Bob access to all his 'private' folders, some of which were duplicates in content. Bob presumed Nuke had forgotten a few file names here and there. His e-mail was hardly a problem either, considering he had optioned to save passwords on his computer. It was almost too easy, but it was hardly proof of conspiracy. Nuke was just lazy.

He had e-mail correspondence with plenty of girls, which didn't surprise Bob in the slightest. And all the usual cryptic e-mails from the government address that Brian used, the one that traced back through so many countries that it was impossible to find the real origin.

The computer was being no real help at all. Bob closed another instant message log that had derailed quickly into poorly typed cyber-sex, and opened the next.

Finally, something jumped out at him. One word that showed up too frequently. It wasn't the kind of word one used in casual conversation regularly, and it certainly wasn't the kind of word that Nuke would have known how to spell right every time. Not without a good reason.

 _Leviathan_.

Bob checked back through previous logs, searching for the word, reading for context every time.

It was a club. Just some dance club. That explained why Nuke could spell it. Some dance club that Nuke apparently frequented during his down time. Bob made a note of the name, went hunting for the address. It wasn't a concrete lead, but it was more than anything else they had.

 

 **Gerard sighed, pulled Adam away from the bar, and tugged him down by the shoulder to speak directly into his ear. He wouldn't be heard otherwise; the bass in the club was too loud. "You're drunk."**

 **Adam spread his arms with a laugh, almost hitting a strung-out passer-by. "I'm having fun!"**

 **Gerard had to set his jaw to restrain himself from snapping properly. "We're busy here, _Nuke_." **

**" _I'm_ not busy. _You're_ busy. Mikey... I'm sorry, _Strig_ , is busy. I am enjoying myself." **

**"And what makes you think now is a time to enjoy yourself?" Gerard tightened his grip on Adam's shoulder. Adam laughed, pulled away and gestured towards the bartender again.**

 **"The guy you're looking for is out back. I think James has him taken care of."**

 **Gerard frowned, but Adam was already gone, off talking to some tart in a short neon-green skirt. He threw his hands into the air and headed for the door.**

 

"Everyone's in black." James pointed this out with a raised eyebrow.

It wasn't entirely true; there were plenty of people in bright colors, and plenty of people in light colors that looked bright when the laser-lights fanned over them. But there was also a noticeable number of people who looked out of place in black halter-tops and short dark skirts. Ray nodded thoughtfully, then smiled at a girl that was looking at him. She giggled, hid her face in her hand, then turned to laugh with her friends. Ray turned back towards James, following him to the bar. James leaned over to order a drink, Ray leaned against the bar and looked at the people around them.

The girl he'd smiled at came closer. She was one of the ones wearing black clothes that didn't quite fit, in the environment or on her, with her fake tan and bleach-blonde hair glowing in comparison to her drab outfit. She touched his arm, and he smiled again. "You... Did you know Adam?"

Ray had to lean close to hear her, even though she was almost shouting. "Why do you ask?"

She looked around, then shook her head. "It's no good," she grabbed his wrist. "Can I talk to you. Outside? So we don't have to yell?"

Ray looked over his shoulder at James, who raised his glass with a smirk. Ray nodded to the girl, let her lead him back through the crowd and out a side door.

The alley was filthy to him. It just seemed stained with the obvious misdeeds that occurred there, though they were currently and thankfully alone. The girl pulled a pack of cigarettes out of her bra, and Ray rolled his eyes to the heavens.

When he looked back at her, the cigarette was smoldering, and there were tears in her eyes. "What-"

"Did you know him? He had a coat like that." Her voice was soft, and the tears didn't quite effect her voice.

Ray touched her shoulder, sticky with sweat that belonged to everyone there, with how humid the inside of the club had been, how closely entwined people danced. "Not personally, no. But I have friends who did."

She nodded, hiccupped, took a drag of her cigarette. It trembled between shaking fingers, and Ray took it from her before she dropped it ember first onto her skin.

"I saw him the night he died." She shook her head, grabbed the sleeve of his coat. She stood up on her tiptoes so she could whisper into Ray's ear. "I know who he was."

Ray took a step back, and the girl leaned against the dirty brick wall. She hid her face in her hands and took a shuddering breath. "There was something wrong. He seemed distracted. More than usual for Adam, you know?"

Ray nodded, even though he didn't know, had no fucking idea. She wasn't looking at him anyway.

"I think he knew. You know? I think he knew he was going to die. And he said, he said before I left that he was going someplace warm, and he didn't think he'd be coming back."

 

Gerard shrugged out of his coat, unzipped his hoodie, and had his shirt half-off before he noticed the blinking light on his answering machine. He tossed the shirt down with the rest of his costume draped over the back of the couch, then pressed play on the machine, heading for the kitchen to make some coffee.

" _You have four new messages. Message one:_ Hey G, it's Mikey. Eh, Little Brother brought something by my place earlier, something I think you should see. Give me a call when you get this."

Gerard frowned into the living room. He wondered what Enigmata had found now. Mikey's voice had sounded tense, but there was something else, some kind of annoyance that he didn't think had too much to do with Gerard being out of his apartment.

" _Message two:_ Gerard, I know I had my doubts, but I'm beginning to agree with Mikey. I talked to someone tonight, I guess your friend was thinking about warmer climates before he left. Sounds suspicious to me."

There was a knock at Gerard's door. Gerard burned his tongue on his coffee as he sipped it, headed for the door despite his current shirtlessness. Why should he give a fuck anyway? No one knew him but the other members of V5.

He hauled open the door. Mikey was there, as if he knew. He didn't need a phone call to know that Gerard had arrived home. Gerard smiled, but Mikey did not return the gesture. He looked paler than usual, uncomfortable, Gerard might even say angry.

" _Message three:_ Stop what you're doing, Gerard. Stop all of this, now. I know you're nervous, but you aren't going to like what you find out if you keep on this road. Just stop."

Brian's voice was cold on the machine, the click of his phone disconnecting sounding more like a threat than any of his words ever could. Gerard turned to look at Mikey, who had obviously heard the message. He laughed, short and tense and without even a hint of mirth. Enigmata strode past Mikey into Gerard's apartment. Gerard was almost startled, he hadn't noticed the vigilante standing there.

"You got one too." Mikey said, gesturing with the envelope he was holding towards the answering machine. He offered the envelope to Gerard.

" _Message four:_ Get to packing, kids! We're going to California."

Two voices comprised this message, the first belonging to an excited James, the second to a more stoic Bob.

" _End of messages._ "

Gerard closed the door behind his brother and returned to the kitchen. He set his coffee mug down on the counter and opened the envelope he'd been handed, flipping open the tri-folded pages. It was a credit-card statement addressed to Adam Lazzara. He glanced at Enigmata, cleared his throat. He was still somewhat shaken by Brian's message. "Stealing someone else's mail is a federal offense," he mumbled wearily.

Enigmata laughed sharply, a pointed chuckle. "I'll try to restrain my criminal impulses in the future."

Gerard smirked, skimming through the statement. "Delta Airlines?"

"Flight to California," Mikey said. "One way, red-eye, the night he died."

Gerard looked up, ashen. "What?"

"Bob looked it up. The flight was booked to capacity, and everyone made it." He sighed, glanced at Enigmata, who seemed off in his own little world, poking around in Gerard's refrigerator. "Nuke might not be dead, Gerard."

Gerard leaned against the counter, picked his coffee back up. If he burned his tongue this time, he didn't notice. "I guess we really are going to California, then."

 

 **Gerard was beginning to wish he'd ignored the phone when it rang at his hip.**

 **"This is getting out of hand, Gerard. You can't keep picking your own fights like this." If it were anyone else, Gerard would blame the cold tone of voice on the inevitable disconnect that telephones brought. But it was Brian.**

 **"We're fucking vigilantes."**

 **"Not anymore. Vigilantes work for themselves. You work for us now. So you'll start doing what I say."**

 **The unspoken threat made Gerard snarl, hoping his anger would go through the phone the way Brian's curtness did. "Go to hell, Brian."**

 **"I'll take that as a yes." The sound of being hung up on was the most infuriating part of the entire conversation.**


	5. Steely Knives

_Census Offices Introduce Forms for Disclosure of Alpha Powers.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...Alpha-type registration is not mandatory. Our government says it is not attempting to frighten, nor inspire bigotry. Disclosure to neighbors and associates is apparently not required._

 _Alpha-types may present themselves to Census offices to fill out a short form indicating their known powers. This information is to be kept on file, accessible only to members of law-enforcement. These files will be tapped only in the case of incidents deemed both dangerous and powered. A super-power fingerprint, if you will..._

 

===

 

Gerard really wanted a cigarette.

Their flight was already boarding first class, adults with children and those who needed assistance. Enigmata could not have looked less comfortable if he tried, running his blindfold between his fingers, tugging on the edges, his eyes darting around as if he couldn't take in enough of the airport. Mikey was sipping from a cup of Starbucks, his eyes just barely dilated, watching the people walking past. He had a hand on Enigmata's arm, keeping him from putting the blindfold on. Bob was sitting behind them all, tapping away on his laptop.

James and Ray were still absent.

Gerard stuck his hands into his pockets, hunched his shoulders. "I don't want to go without them. It doesn't feel right."

Enigmata shifted, pulling away from Mikey's hand and pacing. Mikey reached out to grab him again, pointing with the hand still holding his Starbucks. "James."

Crossing through the security check-point, James pocketed his wallet, juggling a small carry-on bag, a hoodie, a cup of coffee and his sunglasses in his arms, boarding passes clenched between his teeth. He managed to toss his hoodie over his shoulder, position his sunglasses in his hair, hang his bag over the other shoulder and finally raise the hand holding his coffee aloft, so that they all could see him, not just Mikey.

Bob was the first to look up and notice. "He's alone."

Gerard's heart thrummed like a kept bird bating at the end of it's jesses, a bat's wings beating in a narrow cave. "What?"

James finally came up to them as general boarding started. He grabbed Gerard's arm, leaned in close. Whispered into his ear, figuring Gerard was the one who needed to know most. "I waited for him. I went to his apartment. I even went in. Ray's gone. We're gonna have to go under as soon as we hit California."

Gerard cleared his throat, nodded, glanced at Mikey and gave him one of those looks that said everything. "Let's go ahead and board." Gerard cleared his throat again, trying to loosen it, to brush off the fear that had clenched his vocal chords. "We can do this without him."

 

 **The doctor put a pad of lined paper on the table and set two pens beside it. He examined the boy sitting across the table from him, then picked up one of the pens and began taking notes.**

 **The boy was tense, his arms crossed over his chest, hands holding tight to his own biceps. His eyes were clouded over, a tell-tale sign of the sedatives still weighing heavily in his system. The downside to patients requiring sedation was how long it took the haze to wear off after they woke up.**

 **"You haven't been sleeping well?" He asked. Frank shook his head. "According to your mother--" Frank shook his head again. The doctor paused.**

 **Frank cleared his throat, as if afraid his voice wouldn't come out. "She's not my mother. Foster mom. Donna. Mrs. Way."**

 **"Of course." The doctor made note of this, then continued. "According to... Mrs. Way, you aren't sleeping _at all_."**

 **"Can't, 'cept when they give me the shot."**

 **"And why is that, Frank?"**

 **Frank scowled at the table, but when he lifted his head his scowl broke, turned into a frightened little wide eyed stare. "When I close my eyes, I see everything."**

 

Enigmata had his feet on the seat, his knees pulled tightly to his chest. He was frowning, _scowling_ at the stewardess making her pre-flight announcement demonstrating the oxygen masks and the seat belts. Mikey put a hand on his shoulder and Enigmata jerked, snarling like a cornered cat. Mikey smiled, took the tattered strip of black fabric from between his fingers and put his hand in it's place. Enigmata gripped Mikey's hand with a nearly bone-breaking force, but Mikey stuck it out with barely a grimace.

"I hate flying. I hate it. Hate seeing with my stupid eyes." Enigmata craned his neck, looking anxiously over his shoulder. "How do you _live_ like this? I hate it. I will never forgive you if we crash, _ever_. I can't believe you are dragging me to _California_."

Mikey squeezed Enigmata's hand, smiling encouragingly. "I've flown plenty. The probability of a crash is really low, I swear."

"Can't fucking _see_ anything. Can't see behind me."

Mikey sighed, finally pulling his hand out of Enigmata's grip. Enigmata's fingers flexed, clawing at nothing. When Mikey refused to return his blindfold, Enigmata's hands took to the hem of his shirt, tugging back and forth along the edges. The shirt was much too big on him. So were the jeans, for that matter. They were Gerard's clothes.

Mikey turned in his seat, Gerard and James sat behind them, Bob had the window seat in front. The seat next to Bob was empty; Ray should have been in it. Ray was missing, and Mikey wasn't sure what to think. He wasn't sure if Ray was gone, dead, or if Ray had taken off on his own. If Ray had turned all of them in for operating outside the law.

If they were going to be ambushed when their plane landed.

He craned his neck, snapped his fingers in front of Gerard's nose. Gerard blinked, turning away from the window, and looked up at Mikey. James snored at his elbow, Gerard nudged him and he shifted, rescuing Gerard's shoulder from drool.

"I've never wished so hard that we had a precog." Mikey said with a lopsided smirk. Gerard laughed. James shifted in his sleep again, putting his head right back onto Gerard's shoulder.

 

There was no one waiting for them at the airport, and Gerard was relieved. They were safe enough to arrive in California, and now they could go underground.

They made plans to meet up at a tiny hotel that Bob found, barely a step over your average motor-lodge motel. They left the airport in two groups, Mikey and Enigmata leaving via the parking garage; Gerard, Bob and James sneaking out from the bus lane. They split up and regrouped at the other end of the city, Gerard and Bob checking into the hotel under an assumed identity Bob had developed in the two days it took them to organize leaving New York, letting Enigmata, Mikey and James in through a back door that opened onto the parking lot.

Mikey pulled the curtains on the window, Bob threw the chain lock, and Gerard flipped on the lamp between the two beds. James flopped down on one of the beds with a bottle of liquor that he'd picked up somewhere along their trip from the airport to the hotel. A bottle of brandy. They were all pretty sure that a fight was imminent.

Enigmata practically vaulted across the room, thrusting his hand into Mikey's pocket. Mikey spread his arms with an amused little grin on his face, letting Enigmata retrieve the long strip of black fabric. Enigmata scurried away, tying the blindfold over his eyes with a heavy sigh of relief, and perched on the radiator, silent and obsolete in the California weather.

"Stupid eyes." He mumbled to himself. "Pointless."

"Not for the rest of us," Mikey pointed out. Bob was sitting on the bed opposite James, tapping away on his laptop, a concentrated crease between his eyebrows. Gerard started pacing. The room felt tense, as if the air itself had slowed down to avoid identification.

"Either he's here... or someone who can reasonably pass for him is." Bob finally said quietly. Gerard gulped. Bob closed his computer, closed his eyes, and then with a growl and a low roll of thunder, he flung his computer across the room. It stopped, corner scratching at the wall, then floated gently to the floor.

"You will need that later." Enigmata's voice was firm, confident where even Bob had sounded defeated.

Gerard sat on the corner of the bed, putting his head in his hands. "What now?"

"We go find him, or whoever." Mikey said, trying to tap into Enigmata's confidence. Bob looked up, blinked slowly, then nodded. James lifted his bottle into the air.

Gerard glanced at Bob. "You got any idea where to start?"

"There's a hotel... and a club."

Gerard nodded, cleared his throat, then smiled winningly, an act if there ever was one. But Gerard had once been an incredibly talented actor, back when he shared a small house with his brother and his adoptive brother and no one in the neighborhood knew that they were living so near Chiro, Strig and Enigmata.

"And Gerard?" Bob stood up, stretching slightly, his voice tight.

"Yeah?"

"They're on to us. Brian and them. We have to move fast."

Gerard nodded again, turned to face the room at large. "I never thought I'd have to say this again, but I guess... suit up?"

James was off the bed before the words were out of Gerard's mouth. "I thought you'd never ask."

 

 **Frank was the most excited, bouncing from foot to foot, as if his feet were in a boxing ring with Muhammad Ali, though his arms were still, his hands thrust into the pockets of a black trench coat a size too big for him. He'd found it at the Salvation Army.**

 **"Come on, come on. Please." He shifted, chewed on a fingernail. "Come on! I want to see."**

 **Gerard laughed. "Fine, fine." He stepped out of his bedroom, Mikey close behind him. The coats looked like new, and they practically were. Gerard lifted his hood, and Mikey did the same. Mikey was the first to turn around, show off the wings Gerard had painstakingly painted onto the back.**

 **Frank clapped excitedly, then descended on the brothers, squeezing them tight. "This is going to be awesome."**

 **He pulled away, headed for the door, tying a length of black fabric around his eyes. It was one of Helena's old scarves, a gift from Donna for Frank's 18th birthday. "Come on. We have to save the world."**

 

Gerard didn't want to split up, so they remained in a group, shunning their normal names and their normal guises.

They hadn't been heroes in years, except for Enigmata. Sure, they still held their names and the masks, when they'd joined V5. But they weren't the heroes they had been. Not even in New York, investigating what they thought was the death of a dear friend, a close ally.

Tonight they were heroes. Superheroes, as outlawed by the Armstrong Bill. Chiro, Strig and Enigmata, reunited after years apart. A fearsome threesome. And Rym, whom some called a manifestation of Thor himself. And the man called Nysus, a snarling mean drunk with more guns than your average man would know what to do with. They took to the streets, masked and armed and stalking the shadows. Avoiding tight-knit groups of people, couples walking arm in arm, hand in hand. Singles.

The group followed the shadows edging the club, the walls nearly vibrating with over-loud music. An emergency exit door was outlined in chipped red paint. Rym approached it first, running gloved fingers around the doorframe thoughtfully. "Locked on the outside." His voice sounded like distant thunder, not at all like Bob's voice. "I can't tell if there's an alarm."

Nysus stepped forward and pulled a small roll of tools out of a fold in his robes, selecting two carefully and easing them into the lock mechanism. Chiro listened to the minuscule scrapes inside the lock, the tools made of a different metal, making a different sound.

The lock clicked as if opened with a key, and Nysus stepped back, returning his lock picks to his robes. Enigmata made a gesture, holding his hand up, fingers curling slightly. The door shifted, and opened silently. Chiro held up a hand and held his breath, but after a moment of silence except for the increased volume of club music, he gestured, ushering the others in.

Strig went first, hand hovering near his favorite gun, a Smith and Wesson .45 holstered under his hoodie. Rym went next, with Nysus on his heels. In the dark hallway, Rym's hands glowed with contained lightning. Chiro went next, with Enigmata back-to-back behind him, letting the door ease back into a semblance of closed.

They were all tense, maybe overreacting.

The light show in this club put the one at the club in New York to shame. The music too, it was loud enough to be seriously disorienting, for Chiro anyway. He gestured, the others moved in close.

"Split up." Chiro shouted, but it sounded like barely a whisper to any of the others. "Look for any signs of him, any signs of people that might know him. We need information and we need it fast."

Strig spoke up. "Meet back here in twenty?"

Chiro nodded in agreement, and they separated.

 

Nysus had a headache, and it was making him crazy. He went to the bar, ordered a glass of brandy and drank it all in one go. The bartender didn't seem at all put off by his mask, and Nysus reminded himself that they were in LA, and there were weirder types about. There had never been a vigilante problem in California, not that he knew about anyway. The Armstrong Bill was a nation-wide thing, but in some places it was less necessary.

He flexed his hand around the glass, asked the bartender to refill it. His headache was a distraction, he focused on the floor of the club and tried to make note of anything out of place. He didn't notice the lanky blond man striding across the catwalks above, but someone else did.

 

Enigmata didn't know Nuke, he never had. But he'd heard descriptions, and he'd heard stories, and he saw everywhere at once. So he slid through the crowd, preternaturally avoiding any contact until he got to Strig, stalking the floor. Clubs were a den of fucking deceit, all self-absorbed and self-centered. No one noticed him, blindfolded and in a heavy coat. No one noticed Strig, with a feathered hoodie and realistic wings across his back. No one noticed them, except for the blond man above them.

Enigmata did something he hadn't in a long time, too long. He slid his hands around Strig's waist, pressed himself to Strig's back. They blended into the crowd now, and he sighed, relieved, when brown eyes flicked away, distracted by something else. Enigmata lifted to his tiptoes, whispered into Strig's ear. "Up, in the catwalks."

 

Rym had gone up. He liked being high, he liked looking down, seeing things spread in a birds-eye map of the hectic chaos of that many people in such close quarters. He was looking down, looking at all the same people Nysus was seeing, from a different point of view.

He felt someone brush past him. Tall, blond, a familiar strut and a more familiar limp wrist. He gritted his teeth at this, this blatant evidence of conspiracy. Conspiracy that Nuke was in on. Rym's blood boiled. He followed after Nuke, the glow in his hands lost to the blue-flashing strobe lights.

Nuke stopped walking. Rym stopped too. There was a moment's near-silence as one song bled into the next.

 

Nuke's mouth was moving, Enigmata could see it, but he couldn't hear it. What he did know was who Nuke was talking too.

"Chiro." He said in Strig's ear, and Strig was moving. Enigmata followed him. They passed up the stairs in favor of the much quicker and easier instant-elevator that Enigmata's mind provided.

 

Nysus finally lifted his eyes, saw the confrontation forming on the now nearly empty catwalks, Chiro and Nuke facing off like they had countless times in the past to spar. It was serious this time. Nysus headed for the stairs, drawing a gun. Someone screamed.

 

Maybe fifteen feet of empty catwalks separated them. Nothing more, nothing less, all the space in the world and still barely five steps.

"I knew you'd come," Nuke had to shout to be heard over the pounding bass. Chiro growled, the music distorting everything he saw, everything he heard. But Nuke's voice was cold, and came through like a knife.

"You're dead." It was Chiro who spoke these words, not Gerard at all. They were different enough that it was noticeable.

"You'd be surprised how the dead get around these days." Nuke laughed, his Southern drawl adding insult to injury.

 

Strig's eyes were black, Enigmata's hidden. They both watched everything, they both moved closer to Chiro while staying out of Nuke's line of sight.

They could hear, now, hear the exchange. Strig smiled, but it looked more like a sneer, his teeth looked sharp in the darkness.

 

"You misunderstand me." Chiro's voice rose, projecting so Nuke was sure to hear.

"I misunderstand nothing." Nuke tossed his head, flicking his hair out of his eyes. "I knew you'd come, and I knew you'd drag the rest of them."

 

Nysus lifted his gun to aim, met Rym's eyes over the sight. Someone else screamed, but no one noticed. No one cared.

 

"No, _Adam_." While no quieter, the voice had a softness to it, it was Gerard speaking. Almost sad and deeply hurt. "I mean, you're dead."

Nysus' finger tightened on the trigger.

A bolt of pure electricity jetted visibly across the club, silent and deadly.

Nuke turned, grinning, _growling_. He lifted a hand, Chiro lifted both of his.

"No!"

Nuke leapt. A single bullet fell to the catwalk with a sound as lost in the din as a pin dropping. A white-hot explosion met the lightning strike and tore the catwalk apart. The velocity sent Nuke flying, and he landed with a neat roll, just at the club doors. He turned, smiling, watched the entire back wall of the club crumble. More screams. Patrons ran for the door, bowling around Nuke, knocking each other down in their haste to escape the destruction. Some of them stopped still, momentarily paralyzed, they didn't understand. Another explosion brought the ceiling down.

Nuke strode out of the club laughing. No one noticed.

 

Sirens wailed in the night, ambulances taking the mildly injured away to the nearest hospital. EMTs helping those in frightened shock, those who had stopped moving suddenly, those who had been in the back of the club when the catwalk had collapsed and watched chunks of concrete and steel fall around them, never striking them, as if pre-ordained or controlled.

Mikey crawled out of the rubble, bruised but otherwise unharmed. Gerard was standing there, eyes closed, seeing with his ears. He opened his arms, and Mikey ran to his older brother. They hugged.

"The fucker." Mikey whispered, his voice rough with a dust coating.

Bob and James were nearby, Bob's arm around James' waist. James' forehead was cut, bleeding into his eyes, momentarily blinding him. Bob's other arm was hanging loosely by his side, fingers twitching as if in pain that he was barely containing.

Mikey turned around, eyes dilating. "Where is he?"

Gerard shook his head. Mikey's head jerked first one way, then the other, waiting for some movement other than a tumble of rocks, a creaking steel beam falling. " _Gerard_ , where the fuck is he?"

Gerard grabbed Mikey's wrist, Mikey pulled away, striding into the mess that had once been the bar of a highly popular dance club. "I saw him, he was fucking... god damn it, all of those people, he stopped it from _crushing_ them."

"Mikey, I don't know, I haven't seen him. You, I was worried about _you_." Gerard's voice cracked on the last word, and he gulped, closing his eyes again.

"Me too!" Mikey was frantic, his voice pitched high. "I landed like a fucking feather, Gerard, there's no way he didn't..."

There was a shift, a heavy section of plywood wall falling over like a tree under a lumberjack's axe. Mikey was there almost instantly, digging into the rubble, grabbing a bare, heavily tattooed arm. " _Frank_."

Enigmata rose to his feet with Mikey's help, shook drywall dust out of his hair. He gripped his own bare arm, just above where Mikey's hand was going white around the knuckles. The sleeve of his coat had somehow torn clear off. He frowned slightly, tilted his head one way, then the other, then back. And he smiled. "Don't call me that."

Mikey threw his arms around Enigmata's waist, lifted him off his feet and gave him a squeeze.

"We lost." James' voice sounded shocked, shell-shocked, post-traumatic stressed.

Rym's good arm tightened around his shoulders. His voice was low, crackling with carefully cordoned off pain. "One battle's not the war."

Mikey still hadn't released Enigmata, despite the scowl and the struggling the smaller vigilante was doing, the look on his face demanding he be released immediately.

Gerard opened his eyes, turned to look at Bob and James. His jaw was set, his teeth clenched, and his voice spiked into sharp edges, Chiro's voice. "We'll get him."

 

 **"Frank, don't leave. Please, don't just _leave_." The stressed tone of Mikey's voice permeated the entire house, drawing Gerard downstairs to find Mikey and Frank on the front porch. **

**"It's bullshit." Frank was angry, that much was obvious despite the way his blindfold obscured his features. He turned his back on Mikey, strode down the front steps. "I won't be _silenced_." **

**Mikey chased Frank down into the front yard. Gerard followed, standing in the doorway.**

 **"This might be a good thing, Frank." Mikey was pleading now, reaching for Frank's arm. "Think of all the good we can do, with government backing."**

 **" _Government_. That's the problem, Mikey, that's what you don't get. When's the last time the _government_ did anything good? When they passed that stupid registration act, like it was for the greater good? When they let the drunk fuck who _killed my mom_ walk away?" Frank's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to cover it. **

**Mikey pulled back. There were tears in his eyes, and he knew Frank could see them. Frank didn't seem to care.**

 **He wiped his eyes, sniffed, shouted. "When they let mom take you in! When they gave you to us!" He wasn't sure if Frank even heard him, already in the street, already as good as gone.**


	6. Wind Began to Howl

_Anti-Vigilante Bill is Flying Through the Senate.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...The Armstrong Bill is not meant to deny the world the benefits of a super-powered approach to crime-fighting. It seeks to regulate, to protect the general populous from the wild kind of vigilante justice that has been on the rise._

 _If it clears the Senate this Friday it will make vigilantism illegal, but not without giving those with the right ways, means, and ideals a chance to keep fighting. The oft-dubbed 'heroes' or 'avengers' will have the option to disclose their identity (and in the case of Alpha-types, their powers) to the government. Those that choose this route will be adopted into a newly developing branch of the military designed to use Alpha-types and those with vigilante experience to their highest potential. Those wishing not to become 'soldiers' will be able to retire quietly by simply hanging up their masks and adopting their 'secret identities' full time._

 _All Alpha-types, as always, are still encouraged to register with their local Census office, in case of incident..._

===

They regrouped in their little motel room. Enigmata was lying flat on one of the beds, Mikey perched on the edge of the mattress beside him. Enigmata's blindfold was folded neatly on the bedside table, his eyes just barely open, as if staring at the ceiling, his breathing slow. He was sleeping.

James was in the bathroom, enjoying a very long bath. Bob was tapping away at his computer. Gerard leaned over, closing Bob's laptop. "Don't."

"What?" Bob snapped his head up, glaring half-heartedly at Gerard. Gerard just looked at him fondly, and Bob sighed, sitting back and closing his eyes. "Sorry. I just... I can't believe he got us."

"Everyone survived." Mikey said, watching Enigmata's face. They'd watched just enough of the eleven o'clock news to hear that the accident was being blamed on faulty construction and possibly a small-scale earthquake, and that only minimal injures had been reported.

Gerard nodded. "Exactly. For now, that's what matters. We all got out, including the civilians."

"What do we do now?" James came out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, a reddened washcloth pressed to his forehead.

"How's the cut?" Bob asked.

"Hurts." James shrugged, flopping over the food of the bed with a sigh. "Had a headache since earlier, it's a fucking bitch. In case you didn't hear me, I said, what do we do now?"

Gerard looked at Mikey, who for once didn't look up upon feeling his brother's eyes on him. Gerard understood, Mikey had been pretty sure they'd lost Enigmata for real this time, and it had shaken him pretty thoroughly.

"I don't know." Gerard's words were measured, thoughtful. "We're on his turf now, whatever happens. We have to be careful. I don't want any more regular people in the crossfire."

"Agreed." Mikey said, still listening even if it didn't look like he was paying attention.

"So, what, that means his hotel's out of the question too?" James frowned at the ceiling. "If we could just figure out his plan this would be a lot easier."

"He wanted us dead tonight." Gerard's voice was strained, as if his entire body was rebelling against saying these words, despite the truth to them. "I could tell. Something in his eyes... he's changed." Gerard closed his eyes, bowed his head. "Something has changed him. Like, maybe a taste of power."

"Power? He can turn a passing bird in to a fucking nuclear bomb, he _has_ power." James was annoyed, that much was obvious.

"Not like that." Mikey finally turned around to look at the others. "He has power. I think maybe what he wanted was _freedom_."

Gerard tilted his head, squinting thoughtfully at his brother. "How do you mean?"

"Think about it from his point of view." Mikey continued to watch Enigmata, watching his chest rise and fall. His words inadvertently took on a cadence that Gerard heard as matching the beat of Enigmata's heart. "He's dead, supposedly, and buried, or his normal life is. And he comes to California. We're left a neon-lined trail to follow him out here, and he's ready to kill us as soon as he sees us. He wants us out of the picture."

Bob growled quietly. There was already a storm gathering outside, so for once his thunder didn't seem out of place. "He betrayed us. Brian's in on this too. He has to be. Why else would he have warned us not to go? Because he knew we would. Reverse psychology bullshit."

"But _why_?" Gerard's voice cracked with frustration. He'd never had a hard time figuring out what was going on in Nuke's mind.

"Maybe he wants to be the only hero." Enigmata's eyes had drifted shut, and his voice was rough around the edges, lingering sleep making his words slow, almost ponderous. "Maybe he wants you all dead so he can rise as some new true _super_ hero." Enigmata's eyes opened slowly, glanced around the room once, squinting even in the relative dimness. He focused on Mikey for a moment, almost as if he needed to see with his eyes that they were all alright, then closed his eyes again.

"You really think so?" James slowly rose into a seated position, looking across the room at Enigmata. Enigmata sat up, picked up his blindfold and wrapped it around his head.

Gerard looked down at his hands, then stood up, striding into the bathroom to wash the dirt from them. "It's as good a reason as any other."

 

The room was about as dark as it was going to get. Gerard was reminded of the hotel room in North Carolina, with the sulfurous parking lot lights that somehow managed to sneak in through every crack and hole and loose weave in the curtains to taint the room with an uncomfortable yellowish tinge.

Mikey and Enigmata lay side-by-side on one bed, Mikey's eyes closed and Enigmata's barely opened. They were asleep, and their breathing was almost precisely in time, which made Gerard smile. James was spread out on the other bed, his lips moving soundlessly in his sleep. Gerard didn't figure it was much of a restful sleep, considering the creases on James' forehead, the arm tossed over his eyes, and the occasional shift, slow and pained.

Bob was nowhere to be visibly evidenced, but it was hard to hide from Gerard. He could hear the tapping of keys, and he went to the bathroom, knocking gently near the doorknob. He took the responding grunt as a go-ahead and slipped in, closing the door behind him so the bathroom light didn't spill into the room at large and wake the others. Bob was in the bathtub, wrapped in a blanket and typing away, his eyebrows furrowed with focus.

"What's going on?" Gerard asked, dropping the lid and perching on the toilet, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands in front of him. He'd known Bob for some time at this point, and he could tell that the obvious betrayal of a team-mate was weighing heavily on him.

"Couldn't sleep. Obviously you couldn't either." Bob shrugged, reaching out of the tub for a tiny paper coffee cup, taking a sip that was mostly powdered creamer and grinds. He grimaced and Gerard laughed, turning on the toilet and reaching for the little coffee maker, going about brewing a fresh pot.

"So what are you up too?" Gerard's voice held a note of hope. Bob was a tactical genius, if anyone could figure out how, or at least where to stop Nuke, it was Bob. "Or do I even need to ask?"

"Well, there's one thing." Bob sat back from his computer for a second, reaching his arms back to press against the shower wall and stretching.

"Do tell." Gerard watched the coffee brew, listened to the tiny sounds Bob's body made as it moved.

"He's not at the hotel anymore." Bob's shoulders cracked, one after the other in two satisfying snaps, and he sighed contentedly. "He's rented a place, kind of a cabin-type deal out on the beach."

Gerard looked at Bob with an eyebrow raised. "Are you sure?"

"Charge from this company right there on his online statement, they rent out beach houses and the like for vacationers." Bob leaned over his computer again, swiftly resuming keystrokes. "There's only one that was available yesterday but isn't today. The good news is that it's on the beach, fairly out of the way. No civilians."

Gerard pulled the pot from the coffee maker, pouring two cups while the filter dripped the thick coffee directly from the filter onto the hot plate, filling the tiny bathroom with that wholly unappetizing burnt coffee smell. "The bad news?"

"Well," Bob blinked, then looked up. Gerard added cream and just a bit of sugar to Bob's coffee and handed it over. Bob drank most of it like a shot, sighing, grinning up at Gerard. "Your coffee is always better, I don't get it."

Gerard shrugged, sipping at his own. "Lot of practice. Come on, Bob, the bad news?"

Bob looked back down at his computer. "Well. Adam's seen me at work before. I don't think he'd ever doubt my ability to follow whatever he does under his own name. He's obviously not the type to underestimate us, you know?"

"What are you trying to say?" Gerard had already resigned himself to a fight that could possibly cost them their lives. He needed to know if Bob was committed.

"I think this beach house is a set-up. He wanted me to know he'd rented it." Bob sipped the dregs from his coffee, setting the cup back down outside the tub. "He wants us to show up. I think it might be an ambush." His voice had a tone of readiness.

Gerard nodded, looking into his coffee. Some grounds floated to the surface, but when he stuck his finger in to fish them out they disappeared again.

"There's more good news, though. Well, maybe not good. But it's not bad news." Bob stifled a yawn with one hand, grinning at Gerard almost sheepishly.

Gerard gestured with one hand, inviting Bob to continue. "You're my tactics man."

"I don't think he knows how many of us will show up, but if I had my guess, he's not banking on it being all of us. I don't know if he wanted that confrontation at the club any more than we did. But when it didn't go his way, he made it as violent as possible. I don't think he expects us all on our feet. I think maybe he's hoping for an angry assault. A revenge type thing."

Gerard sat back, leaning against the wall, putting his feet up on the counter. He sipped at his coffee thoughtfully, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling. "Oh, it'll be revenge. Just not what he's expecting."

 

 **Jane set a plate with a slice of cake and a small scoop of ice cream at each place on the table, added a glass of milk for herself and her younger son, and a glass of brandy for each her elder son and her husband. Jack added his ashtray, already puffing to light his cigar.**

 **The family sang. Happy Birthday Dear Jackie. The elder son smiling and maybe blushing a little, and they ate cake, and in all it was a nice little gathering, despite conversation.**

 **James reached across the table with a pointed lack of subtlety, drawing his father's ash tray closer, putting a cigarette between his lips. Jane frowned. "You're too young for that, Jimmy."**

 **"Whatever." He lit the cigarette on the candle that made up the focal point for his mother's carefully arranged floral centerpiece.**

 **"I don't want to have this conversation on your brother's birthday, Jim." Jack's voice was slow, rich with the flavor of his choice brandy.**

 **"Which conversation? The conversation about how you're ashamed of me, or the **other** conversation about how you're ashamed of me?" James smirked, rolled his eyes, puffed on his cigarette with a little chuckle. **

"We're not ashamed of you, Jimmy." Jane reached for her son's arm.

"And you still call me Jimmy, which is just great." James avoided his mother's seeking hand, frowning at his empty plate. "I'm sixteen, and I like my name."

"James..." Jackie reached across the table to touch his brother's shoulder.

James shrugged out of the way. "You know what? Whatever. I'm sorry." His voice sounded like he meant it, and he put the cigarette out as a peace offering.

This momentary peace wasn't bound to last any longer than it had the past few times. Jackie could diffuse these kinds of situations, but he couldn't erase or directly change the feelings in someone's heart.

"It'll be okay, Jimmy," Jane smiled brightly at her younger son. "You're just a late bloomer."

Thanks to Jackie's mental influence, James simply didn't have the drive to argue.

"Yeah, mom." To any casual listener, James' voice sounded defeated. But raging indignation lurked beneath the surface of his serene words. "Late bloomer."


	7. End Game

_Armstrong Bill Introduces New Military Group.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...As New York City, and the country at large, sees a sharp decline in vigilantes (and a possibly correlated rise in criminal activity), reports have begun to come in on the government vigilante group promised by the Armstrong Bill._

 _They are called by the codename V5, initial eyewitnesses have varied in reports as to how large the group is, and how efficient they were in their action..._

 

===

 

They were silent as they dressed, preparing themselves for an inevitable fight that might very well end with their deaths.

Mikey buckled a holster around his right thigh, another on his left shoulder. He settled their respective guns into their homes, and pulled on his hoodie, then his winged coat. Over his coat, a third holster gave him a place to settle a high-powered rifle across his back. He dressed efficiently and mechanically, his face drawn.

Gerard followed suit, though armed with only a single handgun, his trusty sidearm. He drew his hood up to cover his hair, tightening a pair of fingerless leather gloves around his wrists. His motions were quicker, sloppier than Mikey's, as though his fingers were rebelling against him. He was commanding not accomplices, but _friends_ into a possibly losing battle. He was willing to admit, if only to himself, that he was scared.

His fear didn't spread. James pulled the belts holding his robes together taught, resorting to using his teeth when his less-dexterous left hand failed him. He too had a rifle holstered across his back. He took a moment to fill his flask with the cheap brandy he'd picked up earlier, finishing the dregs of the bottle where he stood. He replaced the flask into his robes, just in case, then reached for the three-quarter steel circlet- engraved with a barely-there pattern of leaves- and set it over his hair. James enjoyed the fight, and if he was going to die, so be it.

Bob was as stoic and mechanical in his movements as Mikey, as intent on the forthcoming fight. Bob had his own reasons for being righteously angry at Nuke for everything he had done, all the destruction he had caused. He pushed his hair out of his face, shifting and rotating his arms to settle his tunic around him. His bracers were already laced tight, holding his gloves in place. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and pressing both hands to the tiny pendant of Mjöllnir he wore on a chain beneath his tunic.

Enigmata was already dressed, standing beside the hotel room door, waiting. His coat looked almost lopsided, missing its sleeve, and his blindfold was still streaked with dust from the earlier destruction at the dance club. His hair was disheveled, his form seemed even smaller than usual. He was patiently waiting for the others, prepared to fight on the same side as his brothers.

They all forewent their masks. This entire event was too personal for the masks. They were going into this plain-faced, as much themselves as their alter-egos.

Gerard circled the room, touching the shoulder of each of his dear friends. No words were exchanged, they simply left the room. The door shut behind them, clicking shut and ringing in a heavy silence throughout the room.

 

 **"So, tell us a little about yourself, Mister Lazzara." Brian folded his hands on the table, smiling encouragingly across the table. According to his census papers, Adam Lazzara had been identified as Alpha from a very young age, and he was considered incredibly powerful.**

 **"What d'you want to know?" Adam's voice was a slow drawl, his words heavy with the accent of his home-state in the deep South. "About me personally, or just about my powers?" He was calm, relaxed as he searched his pockets for... something.**

 **Brian laughed. "Give us a nice cross-section, if you don't mind."**

 **Adam nodded gamely, flashing a grin at Brian as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of an inner pocket. He didn't ask, simply lit a cigarette with a little sigh. "I grew up with just my dad and my little brother. I moved to New York on my own when I was twenty-two, but I still go back home pretty frequently." Adam pushed his chair back a bit and pressed one knee to the edge of the table, leaning his chair back on two legs. "My dad's not Alpha and my brother might have a little mutation but it's not enough to make any big difference. I did the vigilante thing at first to raise quick cash, but then I found myself fond, you know. I like doing good things."**

 **"Okay." Brian took notes about everything, not just Adam's words, but the way he moved, the confidence with which he carried himself. He might prove handy. "Tell us about your power."**

 **"Alright, so, no one else I've ever talked to can figure me out for sure in any way. It's kinda long, you know, describing it, but there's no handy shorthand for what I do. Cool?" Adam's words twisted as he rambled, confusing themselves even in their pronunciation.**

 **Brian gestured, inviting Adam to continue. Adam grinned, all the presence of the ring-leader of the traveling circus. He lifted his cigarette to his lips, took a slow drag, milked his own pause.**

 **"I pull energy out of things, moving things, I guess they call it _kinetic_ energy." Adam let a wisp of smoke creep from his nostrils, his eyes lit with a Draconian spark. "When something's moving, I can make it stop." **

**Brian nodded, making notes as he went. "Do you do anything with the energy you're sapping?"**

 **Adam's smile was slow in coming, the spark in his eyes catching and then spreading across his mouth until all his teeth were showing. A feral show of pride. "I use it, I send it out and it explodes."**

 **Brian looked up, genuinely interested. There weren't a lot of large-scale powers like that. "Contained explosions? How large?"**

 **"As big as I want, so long as I've got the energy to make it happen." Adam let the two legs of his chair thump back to the floor, reached across the table for Brian's long-since abandoned soda can.**

 **"Well, then." Brian made another few notes, then put the papers in a file-folder lying nearby. He scrawled a sigil in the corner of the file, then stood, reaching across the table. Adam stood as well, dropping the butt of his cigarette into the soda can with a hiss. They shook hands. "Welcome to V5, Mister Lazzara. Do you have a codename?"**

 **"I call myself Nuke." Adam smirked, tossing his hair in a mock show of shyness. "You know, like. Adam bomb."**

 

The beach was deserted. The storm that had been threatening all night had come at last, pouring rain and crackling lightning through the air, the thunder following almost immediately after. The storm was right on top of them.

Rym at least wouldn't have had it any other way.

"This is it, guys." Gerard turned to look at his compatriots, _his_ team. "If we're going to go down, we're going to go down together. Fighting. Do not go gentle and all that bullshit." They'd never let him down, he didn't expect them to now. "But if we can take him down with us, all the better. Anybody gets a clean shot, just go for it."

Enigmata's bared arm looked like as much of a wound as the cut across Nysus' forehead or the bruises on Mikey's cheek. Gerard hadn't felt so much like a warrior in years. It was exhilarating, as exhilarating as the sparks of fresh water painting their faces.

The door of the log-cabin-styled beach house opened. Nuke stood there, arms crossing over his chest. Gerard hadn't seen him in costume in a long time. The sight of Adam standing there, in dark red and black, a scarf wound around his neck and whipping violently in the storm, gloved and booted and masked, it was enough to confirm Enigmata's assessment. Nuke wanted the glory for himself. If he survived. Gerard had no doubt that any destruction that occurred, not to mention the disaster at the night club, would be blamed on them. V5: a government group of vigilantes gone rogue.

Nuke smiled and stepped into the rain, spreading his arms.

Gerard lifted one hand, curled it into a fist. He shouted, a single word that was as much a scream, a screech, a deafening thunderclap. "Go!"

Strig and Nysus both ran for the cover of the porch, while Rym was the first to reach Nuke, tackling him to the ground. It was almost easy, up until the first explosion. Chiro was frozen in his steps for a minute, struggling out of the peculiar feeling of paralysis. He'd never been on the flip-side of Nuke's force leeching, and it was a terrifying moment of stillness.

The damage of blinding lightning meeting kinetic explosion was muted in the sand, not at all as devastating as the destruction of the club had been. Smaller explosions peppered the ground around Chiro even as he regained his forward motion, he realized they were all coming from the speed Nuke was pulling from Strig and Nysus' bullets. Chiro entered the hand to hand combat at the same time as Enigmata's arrival, and for a minute they had the upper hand. Chiro saw the startled look on Nuke's face when the blindfolded vigilante dropped out of the sky, practically landing on top of him, out of the sky.

Nuke took a stumbling step backwards, shaking his head. "No, this wasn't in the plan at all."

Enigmata snarled and threw himself at Nuke again. They both lifted into the air, and Nuke struggled, fighting like a junk-yard dog. There wasn't enough kinetic energy, Enigmata's movements were something else entirely.

Chiro took a step back, as did Rym. They watched for a moment, and then Chiro drew his gun. Strig settled his rifle on his shoulder, focusing with both eyes. Nysus did the same, though he focused with one eye.

Of the three bullets, only one reached it's mark, slicing neatly across Nuke's left arm. Mikey cursed aloud when the other two stopped dead in the air. A deafening explosion blew Enigmata and Nuke both into the sand.

When the air cleared, they were rising again, slowly, jerkily, like a drunken puppet master had snapped awake and pulled their strings taught with trembling hands. Lightning crackled behind them, and Gerard saw that both of Nuke's hands were around Enigmata's throat, thumbs pressing down on the hollow. Probably killing him.

Raindrops were slowing to a stop around them, robbed of their momentum for Nuke's own gain; everything was still, like a single frame from a movie.

Another bullet shattered the momentary stillness, drawing a line of red across Nuke's cheek, and Nuke released Enigmata, pushed him away and fell to the ground in a crouch. Enigmata was still hovering gently, head thrown back, arms limp. A marionette, strings once more trailing around him.

They made a move towards Nuke, but it was Nysus who got there first, diving off the porch and grabbing Nuke's hands with his own. The sheer velocity of Nysus' size slammed them both into the ground. Nuke managed to tear one hand away and pressed his palm to Nysus' chest where the robe had loosened open. Enigmata drifted to the ground like an autumn leaf.

It wasn't the fall, or the imminent explosion that struck Nysus then. His mouth fell open, his eyes went wide, and Chiro figured he'd never seen pupils so dilated in his life, not even growing up with Mikey. Chiro felt like he could see right into Nysus' mind. Nysus' body stilled, and Chiro could hear past the rain and the surf that even Nysus' heartbeat was slowing down. Nysus' mouth shifted, uttering two words that only Nuke could hear over the falling rain and crashing waves. "Oh. Shit."

The sound of Strig's gun firing was lost in the sound of a stellar wave, crashing and leaving tiny waves spreading over their boots. The bullet dropped away harmlessly, inches from Nuke's head, and the explosion that Nuke had been containing to use on Enigmata flew from his hands. Nysus was flung away from him, ten, maybe fifteen feet, landing with a spray of sand that settled over him like the mound over a grave. Nuke struggled to his feet, laughing, lifting one hand still steaming. He lowered two of his fingers.

"You son of a bitch." Strig growled, tossing his gun down and diving off the porch, tackling Nuke back into the sand. Throwing punches and lashing out with his limbs, it was all he had to offer when sharpshooting failed him. Nuke countered each punch easily, both men struggling to their feet and fighting across the sand. A timely open-hand strike turned Strig's head, and two more hits dropped him to the sand.

Chiro moved in to take his brother's place, a dirtier fighter with just a little more weight to his frame, a little lower center of gravity. They were pretty evenly matched, Gerard's fury was something even Nuke couldn't quite comprehend, maybe had never encountered. Blue light surrounded them in crackling fierceness and the heavy scent of ozone, momentarily blinding them both. Chiro screeched, watching Nuke stumble backwards in stark black outline. Chiro came back into the world of visual sight standing beside Rym. The pair of them faced off against Nuke over what nearly amounted to a crater in the sand, deep enough that the bottom was filled with dark silty water.

Nuke was laughing, his arms spread. Raindrops were stilled around him again, like crystals. Like little stars, flaring with each strike of natural lightning cutting through the clouds above them.

"You're all fucking dead." His voice sounded positively insane. "You're all fucking dead, and I can finally get out of this stupid bullshit cowboys and Indians game."

Chiro shook water out of his hair, glanced at Rym, crackling with electricity, visible in bands of blue-white from his hands all the way up his bracers. He was trying hard not to feel despair. They knew going into it that the fight was probably not going to end in their favor. Rym shifted, and the electricity around his arms spread, crawling towards his shoulders. He refused to give up without a fight.

"Brian will be here with a team in five fucking minutes, and if any of you fucks survived, you're going to jail. _Vigilantism is illegal_." Nuke's voice took on a sing-song quality, a mocking lilt.

Chiro was the first to notice the form behind Nuke, gun drawn, and for a minute he thought it was Mikey. He opened his mouth to warn his brother away, but the form behind Nuke was different, taller and with quite a lot more hair. Chiro hesitated, then closed his mouth.

Rym moved, looking the part of every God of war in history, every Thor, every Ares, every Rudianos, flinging a true bolt of lightning at Nuke. An explosion nearly nuclear in it's intensity met it half-way, and the crater separating them grew even wider, sand blinding Gerard and Bob both. Nuke's laugh was as insane as ever. He never turned around.

"You're an asshole, Lazzara." Gerard heard the words, or thought he did, or maybe he imagined them, or maybe it was him speaking. He heard the crack of a gun, or maybe it was a crack of thunder, or a crack in his own mind, a hopeful projection. And then he couldn't see or hear anything at all.

Nuke's face was frozen in a grin as he crumpled to the ground, a natural lightning-strike illuminating blood-stained sand and a piece of skull that might as well have been driftwood, for all it mattered. The thunder that rumbled after was slow in coming, and distant. The storm was moving off, over the ocean.

Ray took a deep, shuddering breath, then spat on Adam Lazzara's corpse.


	8. Silent Raindrops Fell

_Fiction Becomes Reality When Villains Don Masks.  
Byline: Lindsey Ann Ballato_

 _...It is not entirely surprising that some Alpha-types are inspired to use their powers for good, any more than it is for some to use their powers for evil._

 _Vigilantism is on the rise. Alpha-type 'villains' are more and more frequently being met and managed by Alpha-type 'heroes'. And, as the Villains dress up and wear masks to conceal their true identities, so to do the Heroes._

 _In the New York area, the talk of the town is a trio of these masked vigilantes, which witnesses have taken to calling the bat, the bird, and the bandit..._

 

===

 

It had been a long time since Gerard's first cognitive thought upon waking wasn't a sound he'd heard from a mile away, or at least from the next room. It was the smell of coffee that drew him out of what amounted to a deep sleep, and he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar ceiling of natural wooden-brown boards.

He sat up, instantly on alert, looking around. There was another bed in the room, Mikey was spread out on it, legs skewed, one hand on his stomach. Gerard's heart caught in his throat for a minute while he watched intently, and he breathed a sigh of relief when Mikey's chest moved. He was breathing, he was alive.

Gerard stood up, his legs shaking beneath him. He crept out of the room he'd been closed into and stepped into an expansive living room, surprisingly well furnished. Sunlight spilled in through the open windows, a far sight from how dark everything had been lately. Gerard had no idea how long he'd been asleep. He didn't know much of anything.

Gerard followed his nose as much as his ears into the kitchen, where Ray, Bob and someone who was unmistakably _Frank_ sat around a rough-hewn table, sipping from gaudy mugs with chipper sayings and poor caricatures burned into the glaze. They were all three shirtless, and so, Gerard realized, was he.

"What-" He cleared his throat, coughed twice, then tried again. His lungs felt like they were coated in sand, and for all he knew they probably were. "What is going on here?"

Ray stood up and strode across the room to put a hand on Gerard's wrist, leading him to the table. Gerard took the offered seat, crossed his arms on the table and dropped his head to them. Ray went to make him some coffee, following Bob's detailed instructions on how to meet Gerard's specifications.

Ray set the mug down in front of Gerard, who sat up and took a fast gulp, burning his tongue. The spark of warmth and caffeine did plenty to help jumpstart his synapses, and he looked at the three people blinking at him like perplexed birds. He focused on Frank, noticing the stark discoloration around his neck, bruises in the shape of hands and fingertips. "You alright?"

Frank nodded, his eyes surprisingly clear. Gerard smiled, nodded at Bob, who despite a few obvious burns and abrasions presumably caused by sand, seemed the best off out of any of them. Except for Ray, who was untouched.

"Thought you'd sold us out." Gerard finally managed to say.

Ray looked up, smirking slightly. "Not at all. I just got a little lost. Time travel is tricky."

"Time travel." Gerard shook his head. "I thought... you told James you could only do that micro-jump shit."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Ray shrugged. "I wasn't trying to jump that far, but it happened. I ended up something like three weeks from now. Figured out what all happened, or was supposed to happen, thanks to some newspapers. Government agents gone rogue, wreaking havoc in California. Didn't seem much like you guys at all. And then I tracked down Adam, who obviously didn't know me. Living kind of the high life, if you know what I mean, with an assumed identity. But old habits are hard to break, yeah? And some nineteen year old told me everything I needed to know."

Ray looked down at the table again, a crease between his eyebrows. "Bob and En- ah, Frank, told me what you guys figured. Surprisingly close, considering the nature of the double cross. Adam didn't want to be the only hero, he just didn't want to be a hero at all anymore. He turned you guys in for a get out of jail free card. V5 was going to be phased out, you guys were getting too unwieldy, and no one else had come forward to join the ranks, to even things out. Alphas are keeping to themselves, ex-vigilantes are staying that way."

Gerard leaned back in his chair, glanced at Bob, who nodded in confirmation. "Political corruption at its finest. They couldn't control us anymore, and they knew it. So they used that against us. Adam played bait, hook, and line. Brian didn't actually care what happened to any of us in the end, so long as we all ended up dead or locked up."

"You guys were bound to investigate the loss of one of your own." Frank chimed in. "They included him," He pointed at Ray, "Because he was the last Alpha to enter the ranks, the only other person they had to, uh, get rid of. In a manner of speaking." He shrugged.

"And if we all fought, good." Ray continued. "If Nuke took any of us out, one less government trained operative they had to take down on their own. If we took Nuke out, oh well, they wouldn't have to pay him off and they'd have a fool-proof reason to take us into custody."

"Catch-22." Gerard nodded. "So what went wrong?"

"Me, for one." Ray said, lifting a hand to press his forefinger and thumb to the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off an incoming headache. "Do you know how hard backwards time-travel is?" He shook his head. "Trust me, too damn hard. I had no idea when, where or how I'd show up. I got incredibly fucking lucky, and I don't plan on ever trying again."

Gerard nodded. Someone in his family, maybe Gran's father, had done the time-travel thing. It hadn't ever made any sense to him.

"The other problem was _the fearsome mystery_." Bob smiled, a little lopsided grin, reaching out to nudge Frank's shoulder. "Adam didn't expect you to get him off the East Coast."

Frank smiled proudly, lifting his coffee mug in a toast to himself.

Gerard looked around the table, then slowly pieced together the words needed to ask the main question he wanted an answer for. "So." He paused again, clearing his throat. "What, what happened to Nuke?" He figured he knew the answer, but he had to be sure. He had to be told.

Ray shrugged, stood up and returned to the coffee pot to pour himself another cup. "I shot him. Point blank in his stupid fucking head." He looked over his shoulder. "He's dead. The end."

Gerard sat back again, frowning into his coffee, reflecting on everything that had gone wrong. Adam dying, not once but twice as far as Gerard was concerned. Their supposed government contract was about as useful as dust now. Enigmata had been right, the Armstrong Bill had fucked with everything, and they'd made the wrong choice.

Now, though, he figured they had a second chance.

Ray sat back down. "I guess we're all operating outside the law now." He pushed his hair out of his face, took a sip of coffee. "I'm gonna need a costume, I think."

Frank smiled, a coy little grin he'd learned to copy off Mikey. Bob simply nodded, as though Ray's statement had been completely unneeded. Of course he was going to need a costume.

They sat in silence for a while, just drinking coffee and staring at each other, like veterans from an old battle. They had this time to recuperate in Adam's little rented beach house. It wasn't going to be long, but they all intended to make the most out of it.

There was just one more loose end. Gerard sat up straight again. "What about James, is he okay?"

As if summoned supernaturally, a door slammed open down the hall. They all turned to look when James appeared in the doorway, arms crossed tightly over his bare chest. He pointed one finger at Ray, scowling. "You bitch, you son of a bitch."

Ray held up his hands. "I didn't do anything."

"You fucking shot him!" James' voice was higher-pitched than usual, and his obvious frustration had bled into his words, making his usual lisp just that bit more pronounced. "I wanted that bastard so bad and you just _shot him_."

"He saved our lives." Frank pointed out. James gestured angrily, and Frank sat back, smirking into his mug.

"By the way..." Ray grinned. "Good morning, _precog_. How's it feel?"

" _Fuck_." James turned on his heel and stormed back into the room he'd been laid out in, ranting to himself as he went. "Never touching anybody ever again, fuck this. _Powers_. So ridiculous, who _needs them_? I don't. Fuck, I am never taking my gloves off ever again." The door slammed, and Gerard turned with wide eyes to look at Ray.

"It was in the future paper." Ray shrugged. "Nysus, long-presumed powerless vigilante manifested precognition while fighting former ally Nuke. Or something like that. Don't quote me. I figure in that future he saw everything I was figuring out. All the double-crossing and that."

Gerard's face shifted in a position of mixed amusement, amazement, and even a touch of confusion.

"I haven't told him anything. I figure, in this time-line, all he saw was me shooting Adam." Ra shrugged again. Bob shrugged too, and then Frank.

Gerard stood up. "I'm gonna go check on my brother."

He headed through the living room and down the hall, pausing and turning back just long enough to call over his shoulder at the three around the table. "Uh, let's not talk about alternate time-lines anymore. It makes my head hurt."

 

 **Gerard flopped over onto the cushionless couch, draped an arm over his face and heaved a heavy sigh. Mikey dropped two of the cushions onto Gerard with a laugh.**

 **"We should have gotten a place in the woods." Gerard mumbled. "Then Frank could just move all the furniture and shit, just like that."**

 **Mikey shook his head. "Yeah, but uh, we don't have to pay for this place."**

 **"This much is true."**

 **Gerard and Mikey had spent long weeks at Helena's house while they were growing up, it felt just as much like home as Donna's house in the next town. Now that Frank was eighteen, it was theirs. Their own little home.**

 **A base of operations.**

 

A different day, a different cemetery, but it was the same old funeral. It just had a body this time. They watched from the outskirts, pretending to be visiting another grave. Well, not really pretending. They _were_ actually there for another grave. Frank knelt in the damp earth, tracing the letters carved into the stone with one fingertip, his eyes open, and clear.

"Kinda fucked that they're burying him a stones throw from here, huh?" James said, mostly to himself.

"It's a really nice cemetery. Our grandma is up two rows, and down just a bit..." Gerard looked over at the small funeral. "Not that anyone will come visit him."

"Some might." Bob said. "I might. He was an absolute two-faced fucker, but he was a good fighter."

"Anyone wanting to pay respects to Nuke is going to go to North Carolina." Mikey pointed out.

"Shut up, you guys, I'm trying to fucking commune with my dead mother here." Frank snapped. Mikey patted his shoulder, still looking across the rolling landscape towards the tiny knot of black suits at the graveside. They were lowering the coffin into the ground.

It was appropriate funeral weather this time, not actually raining, but bleak, with heavy gray clouds obscuring the sun. Not the kind of funeral Adam would have liked, but then, Adam was dead.

Frank snapped his fingers to catch their attention, and James handed him the rose he'd been the unwilling bearer of, blowing smoke out the side of his mouth with a low curse, along with something that sounded suspiciously like 'faggot'. Frank ignored him, pulling a length of black ribbon out of his own pocket and tying it around the stem.

He left the rose on his mother's grave, standing up and brushing off the knees of his jeans.

The funeral across the way was over, people were leaving quickly, as if they didn't want to be caught there. Gerard made a minuscule gesture, and the six of them moved across the little half-paved road that wound through the cemetery for the hearse to get around on.

The graveside was not completely abandoned. Brian stood at the headstone, head bowed, fedora held to his chest. He looked up at them, and a flicker of momentary fear passed through his eyes.

"Well, we're here." Gerard said stonily, looking down at the freshly turned earth with equal parts pity and distaste. Adam had been his best friend, and despite his betrayal, Gerard still pitied this lonely funeral attended only by government agents, mostly against their will. He'd missed out on his actual funeral, with friends and family. Maybe the weather was perfect after all. The sun had shone on an empty casket. Clouds weighed heavily on the occupied one.

Brian reached into his coat, pulled out a handful of envelopes, tossed them towards the damp ground. They hovered in the air, then floated easily into Frank's hands, where he began to glance through them.

"I can't do anything more for you. You know, I always thought what you did was right. Before the Armstrong Bill, I mean." Brian tipped his hat. "I'm resigning, retiring quietly. That, and this," He gestured at the envelopes in Frank's hand. "Are your head starts."

He turned and walked away from the graveside. A car pulled up, and Brian climbed in.

They turned, but Gerard paused at the tell-tale sound of an electric window reeling down. He glanced over his shoulder, and Brian smiled lopsidedly. "Try not to get caught, okay?"

The car pulled away as the window rolled up, and Gerard smirked, sighed, and then laughed.

Frank handed an envelope to each of the others. "Your Census files. Your identities are safe. You can drop off the radar."

Ray raised an eyebrow, shoving Frank playfully. "What, like you did?"

Frank shrugged, pulled his blindfold out of his pocket and tied it over his eyes with a sigh of relief, like one would make pulling a cherished blanket up to their chin. "It worked, didn't it? They never caught me. They never will."

Bob nodded, and the group headed off through the cemetery.

"But where are we supposed to live?" Ray asked, trailing a bit behind. Gerard gestured wordlessly, and Mikey pulled out his cell phone.

James pulled off a glove, reached out to grab Ray's wrist. His eyes closed, and his breath hitched like all the air in his immediate vicinity had disappeared for a moment. He pulled away with a shaky grin, putting his glove back on and trotting to catch up with the rest of the group. He looked over his shoulder, shot Ray a cocky grin. "I'm sure we'll figure something out."

Ray frowned, taking a few long strides to join them. "James? James, what did you see?"

James didn't respond, but he didn't have to. Mikey was speaking to someone on his cell phone, his voice soft. "Hey Ma, I think we're ready to move back into Gran's old place. Eh. Yeah. Yes, Frank too." Frank smiled, and Ray raised an eyebrow.

Gerard patted Ray on the back, a mischievous smirk playing around his eyes. "We're all brothers, now. You'll get used to it."

 

 **"My name is Agent Brian Schechter, and I'll be V5's handler. Your contact with the higher ups."**

 **Gerard glanced at his brother, dressed in the same olive-drab coat as he was. Mikey smirked, his mouth barely moved, but the intended words were all in his throat, where only Gerard could hear them. " _This is so lame_."**

 **Brian turned to look at them. "I understand you two are brothers?"**

 **"Yeah." Gerard said, glancing at the others in the group. He smiled at the lanky blond leaning against the wall, hiding behind a pair of sunglasses as pointlessly large as Gerard's own.**

 **"And you're from New Jersey?"**

 **Mikey nodded, and Brian turned to look at the other blond, shorter with a heavier frame, not to mention his incredibly light blue eyes and neatly trimmed beard. "Illinois?" He nodded.**

 **Brian turned. "North Carolina?"**

 **The blond against the wall nodded, speaking in a Southern drawl with a Long Island bite. "Yeah, originally. By way of New York."**

 **"And... Missouri?"**

 **The fifth member of this new team looked up from a pack of cigarettes that he was carefully selecting from. "Present."**

 **"Good." Brian set the papers he'd been flipping through aside, spread his arms, inviting them to pitch in.**

 **Mikey spoke in his throat again, only for Gerard's ears. " _No Enigmatas_."**

 **Gerard shook his head almost imperceptibly. Of course there were no other Enigmatas. But he had a good feeling about it, regardless.**


	9. A Desperation Murmur

Over the course of one week in midsummer, hallmarked by weather best described as optimistic, the following things happened:

A Senator from New York, one Democratic Matthew A. Rubano, announced that he would begin a campaign to repeal the Armstrong Bill, on the basis that vigilante justice was better than no justice at all. He held an impromptu press conference in Central Park, giving a rousing speech that denounced fear-mongering and bigotry, that blasted the restriction of freedom.

Lindsay Ballato wrote a series of articles in support of Senator Rubano's motions to repeal the Armstrong Bill, despite the controversy that this attracted to her admittedly left-wing paper.

Senator Ross, a Republican from Nevada, took up the cause against Rubano's repeal measures. He held a counter-active conference in Washington, mentioning unfounded rumors about Senator Rubano and his supporter Ms. Ballato, including that they were both Alpha-type and had unsavory connections to the former Government-backed group V5.

A group of vigilantes began to be reported as active in the North East, particularly around New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. It was rumored that these heroes were the remnants of V5.

A group of young men moved into a small neighborhood in an equally small town in New Jersey. It was the type of town in which every resident knew every other, but the boys were all very sweet and well-mannered, and adopted into the goings-on of the city with ease.

Rumors abounded; about the association between the long-reviled vigilante Enigmata and the ex-government operatives, about the association between the current reports of a vigilante group and the controversial reporter Lindsey Ballato, about the association between all of these people and the Senator campaigning for vigilante rights.

But the thing about rumors is that rumors are notoriously easy to dismiss.

 

They didn't call themselves V5 anymore. V5 had been a government gig, and besides, there weren't five of them anymore. James had tried to call their grouping VI6 for a while, but it never really caught on.

In the end, they didn't need a name, or a number.

They had a calling, and that was definitely enough.


	10. Enhanced Content - Fanmix/Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mix](http://www.megaupload.com/?d=WYDMLN01) by [bloodbelieve](http://www.livejournal.com/users/bloodbelieve/).
> 
> I just. Can I say how fantastic this mix is?
> 
> My beta/fiancé said I made it easy on my mixer, with the lyric-chapter titles, but for me, it was a total toss-up as to whether my mixer would catch onto those and use them in their mix. I half-hoped, because this fic never would have happened without the _Watchmen_ film, and about half my chapter titles come from songs off the _Watchmen_ soundtrack. Including _Sound of Silence_ , the Hendrix version of _All Along the Watchtower_... That's just perfect. The inclusion of _The Times They Are A-Changing_ just made me shiver, because while I didn't use any lyrics from the song in the fic, it's definitely an influence on the fic in a huge way. Like, seriously, my fanmixer could not have been more spot-on with this.
> 
> BUT THERE'S MORE! Some of my favorite artists are on the mix, even outside of the _Watchmen_ soundtrack songs. Cream! The Who! Black Flag! Plus some stuff that's new to me (I know of Midtown and Empires, but had never heard them before this mix). And everyone knows new music is always good. If I never gave anyone new a chance, I'd still be writing Beatles fanfic, and would never get people making mixes and drawing for me!
> 
> Possibly my favorite thing about this mix is the sutbtlety of including a song by Taking Back Sunday and a song by The Get-Up Kids. Something that makes my fic unique (and I know this well) is the presence of James and Adam. Not just their presence, but their status as main characters. I half expected my fic to be not terribly well received due to this, but I see now that at least one person loves them as much as I do! It's a nod to their real-life counterparts, and also two songs very appropriate to the feel of the story. _What's It Feel Like To Be A Ghost_ is so _eerily_ appropriate to Nuke, I don't know how I never thought of it myself.
> 
> And not to mention cover art! Really kick-ass-sweet cover art! All desolate and amazing.
> 
> My eternal thanks go out to [bloodbelieve](http://www.livejournal.com/users/bloodbelieve/) for putting together such an awesome mix for my fic.

  


**01\. Midtown - Armageddon.**

 **02\. Simon & Garfunkel - The Sound Of Silence.**   
_Hello darkness, my old friend,  
Ive come to talk with you again,  
Because a vision softly creeping,  
Left its seeds while I was sleeping,  
And the vision that was planted in my brain  
Still remains  
Within the sound of silence._

 **03\. Bob Dylan - The Times They Are A-Changing**   
_The order is  
Rapidly fadin'.  
And the first one now  
Will later be last  
For the times they are a-changin'._

 **04\. The Who - Won't Get Fooled Again**   
_We'll be fighting in the streets  
With our children at our feet  
And the morals that they worship will be gone._

 **05\. Elvis Costello - Watch Your Step**   
_Watch who's knocking on your front door  
Now you know that they're watching  
What are you waiting for?_

 **06\. Jimi Hendrix - All Along The Watchtower**   
_But you and I we've been through that  
And this is not our fate  
So let us not talk falsely now  
The hours getting late._

 **07\. The Get Up Kids - Regret**   
_I was a short fuse  
Burning all the time  
You were a complete stranger  
Now you are mine._

 **08\. Empires - Don't Let It Fool You**   
_Once you're here,  
Time begins to creep on us.  
Every night, every worry comes in.  
Don't let it fool you._

 **09\. Taking Back Sunday - What's It Feel Like To Be A Ghost?**   
_Dragged you out into the streets before you buckled at your knees  
"What's it feel like to be a ghost?"_

 **10\. mewithoutYou - The Dryness And The Rain**   
_first came a strong wind,  
ripping off rooftops like bottlecaps  
and bending lampposts down to the ground  
then came a thunder shattering my windows  
but you were not that strong wind._

 **11\. Black Flag - Revenge**   
_We're gonna get revenge  
You won't know what hit you  
We're tired of being screwed  
Revenge!_

 **12\. Cream - I Feel Free**   
_I can walk down the street, theres no one there  
Though the pavements are one huge crowd.  
I can drive down the road; my eyes dont see,  
Though my mind wants to cry out loud._

 **13\. Hit the Lights - Until We Get Caught**   
_This is not the end  
This is just the beginning  
And don't you know everything we want  
Is within our reach at fingertips length  
We fought nonstop to make these nights our own  
Now no one can take them away_

 **14\. Midtown - The Tragedy of the Human Condition**

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [brille](http://www.livejournal.com/users/brille/)
> 
> [Please Go Here for the Gorgeous Bigger Version!](http://i566.photobucket.com/albums/ss103/butyoumight/Enigmatacopy.jpg)
> 
> I somehow knew, from my little mystery boy's first appearance that, if I got art, my art was going to be of him. Take the _Watchmen_ fandom. Who is the most drawn character? By and far it is Rorschach. Enigmata is the Rorschach of this universe. The vigilante who, while maybe mildly sociopathic, never gave up on his ideals. Never gave up the 'good fight'.
> 
> I'm a big dork. Enigmata's costume is incredibly Rorschchy with his silly little trenchcoat, but decidedly Frank with his hoodie, and (here is the true measure of my dorkiness) his 'mask' is a blindfold, an idea that I totally blatantly stole from Blizzard/Warcraft, and [Demonhunter class Illidan](http://images4.wikia.nocookie.net/wowwiki/images/b/bf/Illidanarchive.jpg) (by and far one of my favorite characters from the lore). In the basest sense, Enigmata is a demonhunter (in fact, his distaste for guns is also a very subtle hail to Illidan's [Blades of Azzinoth](http://www.wowwiki.com/Blades_of_Azzinoth)). Okay, enough Warcraft dorkiness.
> 
> This picture is fucking amazing. The first thing that caught my eye was the background, which could not be more appropriate. I'm all honored and blushy by the use of some of my (via Lindsey) words in the picture. And it couldn't have been a better article. Vigilantism is Enigmata's _life_. The black-and-white and sketchy feel of the picture itself is also so perfectly appropriate, as if it's a composite sketch drawn up for the paper itself, or by the Police.
> 
> You can ask my beta/fiancé, I nearly cried when I first saw this. I never thought I'd ever get fanart drawn for something I'd written, and it's just so perfect!


End file.
